


Season One

by newtonforce



Series: Ordinary Things [1]
Category: Supernatural, The Office (US)
Genre: Artist Castiel, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Nerd Sam, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Openly Gay Castiel, Pranking, Slow Burn, basically just office scripts, only the first few seasons of the office, there are more characters - Freeform, these are just the most important, will they or won't they
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 01:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15786117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtonforce/pseuds/newtonforce
Summary: A camera crew details the lives of disgruntled office workers, led by deluded boss Paul Hortman, at the Dunder Mifflin paper company.





	1. Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clueless Dunder Mifflin manager Paul Hortman welcomes a documentary crew to to observe the office just as he learns that his branch could be downsized.

"All right, Dean, your quarterlies look very good," Paul praised him, shuffling through the papers in his hand. "How is the thing going at the... library?"

"Oh, I told you I couldn't close it, so," Dean trailed off, resting his square chin on his hand.

"So you've come to the master for guidance?" Paul sat back, grinning. "Is this what you're saying, grasshopper?"

"Actually, you called me in here," Dean corrected. "But, yeah."

"All right, well, let me show you how it's done." Paul dialed the phone. "Yes, I’d like to speak to your office manager, please. Yes, hello, this is Paul Hortman, I am the regional manager of Dunder Mifflin paper products. Just wanted to talk to you, manager-on-manager." A few minutes later, Dean was still watching Rufus do a crossword puzzle when Paul told the phone, "All right, done deal. Thank you very much, sir. You're a gentleman and a scholar." His face suddenly became blank. "Oh, I'm sorry. Okay. I'm sorry, my mistake." He hung up, explaining- "That was a woman I was talking to. She had a very low voice. Probably a smoker." He grinned again. "So, that's the way it's done.”

* * *

 

Paul clasped his hands as he strolled in front of the Dunder Mifflin logo on the wall in the hallway. "I've been at Dunder Mifflin for twelve years, the last four as regional manager. If you want to come through here..." He opened the door to the main office. "So, we have the entire floor. So this is my kingdom, as far as the eye can see," he informed the camera, chuckling a bit. "This is our receptionist, Cas."

The dark haired man behind the desk gave a weak smile.

"Cas, Cas, Cas! Castiel Novak. Cas has been with us for- forever, right, Cas?"

The receptionist laughed a little. "Well, I don't know..."

Paul pointed at the camera. "If you think he's cute now, you should have seen him a couple years ago!"

The smile disappeared from Cas' face. "What?"

"So," Paul cleared his throat. "Any messages?"

Cas seemed to drop the issue and muttered, "Just a fax,” before handing it to his boss.

Paul knit his eyebrows. "Cas, this is from corporate. How many times have I told you that there's a special filing cabinet for things from corporate?"

Cas was affronted. "You never told me!"

"It's called the wastepaper basket!" Paul laughed, tossing it in, laughing and pointing at Cas' uncomfortable face. "Look at that! Look at that face!"

* * *

 

Paul swiveled on the desk chair in his office. "People say I'm the best boss. They go, 'God, we've never worked in a place like this before, you're hilarious, and you get the best out of us.’ I think this pretty much sums it up." Face blank except for a smile playing around his mouth, he lifted a mug that read World's Best Boss. "I found it at Spencer Gifts."

* * *

 

Dean's desk clump mate, Sam Wesson, a long haired hunter and farmer, grabbed his headset, humming "Little Drummer Boy".

Dean glanced at the camera, visibly irritated.

* * *

 

Dean leaned his chin on his fingers, speaking in the conference room. "My job is to speak to clients on the phone about quantities and types of copier paper. You know, whether we can supply to them, whether they can pay for it, and..." he trailed off and chuckled. "You know what, I'm boring myself just talking about this."

* * *

 

Paul sidled up to Sam and Dean's desk clump. "Wazaaaa," he imitated.

"Wazaaa!" Dean mimicked, grinning. "He still loves that, after seven years."

Sam and Paul continued in this vein for awhile. Dean went back to his computer.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Paul asked Dean, "What?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing."

"Okay, all right," Paul put his hands on his hips. "See you later."

"All right, take care," Dean told him, turning back to his desk.

"Back to work," Paul muttered to himself, going back into his office.

* * *

 

Jess gestured to tell Gabe about the piece of the donut on his face.

* * *

 

Rowena entered the branch as Paul, in his office, told the camera, "Corporate really doesn't interfere with me at all. Rowena MacLeod-Fisher. Rowena, hello! I call her Hillary Rodham Clinton, right?" He laughed. "Not to her face because, not because I'm scared of her, because I'm not, but yeah," he explained.

* * *

 

Rowena, Paul, and Cas were sitting in Paul's office when she suggested, "All right, was there anything you wanted to add to the agenda?"

Paul made a face and in a small voice, explained, "Me no get an agenda."

Rowena was clearly fighting to keep her expression neutral. "I'm sorry, what?"

Paul spoke up. "I didn't get any agenda."

"Oh, I faxed one over to you this morning," Rowena stated, confused.

“Really? 'Cause I didn't..." he looked at Cas. "Did we get a fax this morning?"

Cas pointed vaguely in the direction of his desk. "Yeah, the one..."

"Why isn't it in my hand?" Paul gestured vaguely. "Because a company runs on efficiency of communication, right? So what's the problem, Cas, why didn't I get it?"

"You put it in the garbage can that was a special filing cabinet," he answered.

Paul gaped slightly for a moment before laughing. "Yeah, that was a joke, that was actually my brother's, it was supposed to be with bills and doesn't work great with faxes."

Rowena chose to ignore this. "Do you want to look at mine?" she suggested, handing her agenda to Paul.

"Yeah. Thank you." Paul glanced at it.

Rowena sighed. "Okay, since the last meeting, Alan and the board have decided that we can't justify a Scranton branch and a Stamford branch. Now, Paul, don't panic-"

“Oh, okay," he interrupted. "No, no, no, no, no, this is good, this is fine."

"Paul, listen, don't panic." She sat back. "We haven't made any decisions yet, I've spoken to Azazel in Stamford. I've told him the same as you, and it's up to either you or him to convince me that your branch can incorporate the other."

Paul shrugged, clearly fighting an inner battle. "Okay, no problem."

Rowena clasped her hands together. "This does, however, mean that there is going to be downsizing.”

Paul made a face. "Me no wanna hear that Rowena, because downsizing is a bitch, it is a real bitch, and I wouldn't wish that on Azazel's men, I certainly wouldn't wish it on my men, or women, present company excluded, sorry."

Rowena glanced at Cas, who was studying the lamp.

"Is Azazel concerned about downsizing himself?" Paul asked. "Not downsizing himself, but is he concerned about downsizing?"

* * *

 

Sam tapped Dean's right shoulder, standing to his left. Dean glanced up to the right, turned his head, and glared at Sam's back as he walked away, laughing.

* * *

 

"Question," Paul began. "How long do we have to-" he was interrupted by the phone ringing and glanced at the name. "Oh, Gordon Walker, terrific rept, do you mind if I take it?"

Rowena observed him for a moment before saying, "No, go ahead." Paul picked up the phone. "Walkman!"

"Hey, big queen," came the voice through the phone.

Paul was suddenly very uncomfortable and muttered, "Oh, that's not... appropriate..."

"Hey, you told me Hillary Rodham was coming in today?"

"I don't know what you mean," Paul uttered quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Look, I demand you ask her one question- 'Does the corporate master rape?'"

Paul quickly hung up. "Oh, my god! That's so horrifying! Horrible, horrible person!"

Rowena looked at the camera and swallowed. "So do you think we can keep a lid on this for now? I don't want to worry people unnecessarily."

"No, absolutely," Paul agreed. "Under this regime, it will not leave this office."

* * *

 

Cas showed Benny in and gestured vaguely at his boss. "This is Paul Hortman."

"Guilty," Paul laughed. "Guilty as charged."

Benny smiled weakly. "Benny Howard. The temp agency sent me down to start today."

Paul, apparently, thought this was hilarious. "Howard, like Moe Howard, Three Stooges? Right here, my vibe," he declared, imitating Moe, and high fived Benny.

Cas stared at them with discomfort. “Oh, Cas. It's a guy thing, Cas."

"I'm a guy," replied Cas.

Paul ignored this. "I'm sort of a student of comedy. Watch this, here I go," he told them, then imitating Hitler: "I'm Hitler, Adolf Hitler."

* * *

 

Cas, dressed in a pale blue sweater and black dress pants, quietly told the camera in the conference room, "I don't think it would be the worst thing, if they let me go. Because then I might-" he paused, thinking. "It's just, I don't think it's many little boys' dreams to be a receptionist. I like to do illustrations, mostly water color, a few oil pencil. Dean thinks they're good."

* * *

 

At his desk, he answered the phone: "Dunder Mifflin, this is Cas."

* * *

 

Dean held the phone between his shoulder and neck. "Sure, Mr. Davis, let me call you right back. Yeah, something just came up, two minutes. Thank you very much." He turned to his desk mate. "Sam, what are you doing?

"What?" he replied, shoving his ruler into the space between their desks.

"What are you doing?" Dean repeated.

"Just clearing my desk, I can't concentrate," Sam explained curtly.

"It's not on your desk," Dean was incredulous.

"It's overlapping. It's all coming over the edge," Sam explained, looking Dean in the eye. "One word, two syllables: demarcation."

* * *

 

Dean stuck pencils in the crack between his and Sam's desks like an orange fence.

Sam arrived with a new cup of coffee. "You can't do that."

"Why not?" asked Dean, sitting back in his chair.

"Safety violation, I could fall and pierce-" Sam paused. "An organ."

Dean crossed his fingers. "We'll see."

Using his phone, Sam smashed all the pencils down.

Dean turned and told the camera, "This is why the whole downsizing thing just doesn't bother me."

* * *

 

In the conference room, Sam told the camera briskly, "Downsizing? I have no problem with that. I have been recommending downsizing since I first got here- even brought it up on my interview. I say, bring it on!" He sat back triumphantly.

* * *

 

Cas, sitting at his desk and looking up at Paul, worried. "You just still have messages from yesterday."

His boss was adamant. "Relax, everything is under control. Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh, that's important, right. Oh, this is so important, I should run to answer it." He started away as the Six Million Dollar Man.

This went on for a bit until Cas sighed and asked, "What?"

"Come on," Paul scoffed. "Six million dollar man, Steve Austin! Actually, that would be a good salary for me, don't you think? Six million dollars? Memo to Rowena: I deserve a raise."

Cas smiled and murmured quietly to himself as he turned in his chair towards the fax machine. "Don't we all?"

"I'm sorry?" asked Paul.

Cas shook his head minutely, staring up at his boss. "It's- nothing-"

"If you are unhappy with your compensation, maybe you should take it up with HR, okay? Not today, okay? Cas, just, be professional." He walked away.

* * *

 

Paul, in his office, told the camera, "I think I'm a role model here, I think I garner other people's respect."

* * *

 

Paul stepped out of his office. "Attention, all Dunder Mifflin employees, please, we have a meeting in the conference room, ASAP.”

* * *

 

Back in his office, Paul was talking to the camera. "People I respect, heroes of mine, would be Bob Hope, Abraham Lincoln, definitely, Bono, and probably God, would be the fourth one." He sat back. "And I just think all those people really helped the world, in so many ways, that it's, it's really beyond words. It's really uncalculable.

* * *

 

Back in the conference room, Paul was saying, "Now, I know there's some rumors out there, and I just kind want to see-"

Sam stood up. "I'm assistant regional manager, I should know first."

"Assistant to the regional manager," Paul corrected.

Sam sighed. "Okay. Can you just tell me, please? Just a whisper in my ear."

"I'm about to tell everybody," Paul told him. "I'm just about to tell everyone."

“Please, okay,” Sam agreed, then suggested: “Do you want me to tell them?”

Paul was irritated. “You don't know what it is!”

Sam creased his eyebrows. “Can you tell them, with my permission?”

Paul shook his head. “I don't need your-”

“Permission granted,” Sam interrupted. “Go ahead.”

Paul clasped his hands. “Corporate has deemed it appropriate to enforce an ultimatum upon me, and Rowena is thinking about downsizing either the Stamford branch or this branch.”

Outside the conference room, Benny was saying, “I heard they might be closing this branch down. That's just- that's just the rumor going around. This is my first day, I don't really know.

Back inside the conference room, Kevin Tran worried aloud, “Yeah, but Paul, what if they downsize here?”

Paul made a face. “Not gonna happen.”

“It would be out of your hands, Paul,” Rufus informed him gruffly.

Paul glared at him. “It won't be out of my hands, Rufus, okay? I promise you that.”

Rufus leveled the glare. “Can you promise that?”

Sam nodded. “On his mother's grave.”

Paul started. “Well, eh, no. Yeah, it is a promise, and frankly, I'm a little bit insulted that you have to keep asking about it.”

“It's just that we need to know,” Rufus explained.

“Hold on a second, I think Cas wanted to say something. Cas?” Paul looked at his receptionist, who looked up at him with big innocent blue eyes. “You had a look that you wanted to ask a question, just then?”

Cas took a deep breath. “I was in the meeting with Rowena and she did say that it could be this branch that gets the axe.”

Paul gaped. “Cas? Maybe you should stick to the ongoing confidentiality agreement of meetings.”

“Yeah, Cas, information is power,” Sam agreed.

Rufus sat back, grumpy. “So you can't say for sure whether it's gotta to be us or them.”

“No no, no Rufus, no you did not see me in there with her,” Paul argued. “I said, if corporate wants to come in here, and interfere then they're gonna have to go through me, right? You know, you can go and mess with Azazel's people, but I'm the head of this family, and you ain't gonna be messing with my chillen.”

* * *

 

After the meeting, Dean sat in the conference room. “If I left, what would I do with all this useless information in my head? You know, tonnage price of manila folders? Cas' favorite flavor of yogurt, which is raspberry.”

* * *

 

Cas sat at his desk, eating a spoon of yogurt.

* * *

 

Cas was in the conference room, looking cheerful. “Dean said raspberry? Yeah, he's onto me,” he laughed.

* * *

 

Back in the office, Paul walked up to Sam’s desk, Benny trailing along silently.

Paul rubbed his hands together. “Watch out for this guy! Sam Wesson in the building! This is Benny, the new temp.”

Benny smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

Paul nudged Sam. “Introduce yourself, be polite.”

Sam stuck his hand out. “Sam Wesson, Assistant Regional Manager.”

“Assistant to the Regional Manager,” Paul corrected. “So, Sam tell him about the kung fu, and the car and everything.”

“Yeah, I got a 78-2-8 , I've bought her for 1200, fixed it up, now worth three grand,” Sam explained.

Paul grinned. “That is his profit!”

Sam nodded. “New engine, suspension... I've got some photos.” He opened his drawer and slammed his hands on the table. “Damn it!”

Paul held his hands up in a mediating position. “Okay, hold on. Judge is in session. What is the problem here?”

“He put my stuff in Jell-O again!” Sam shouted, pulling out an upside down bowl of yellow Jell-O with a black stapler hovering inside.

From his desk, Cas started to laugh.

“That's real professional, thanks,” griped Sam sarcastically. “That's the third time and it wasn't funny the first time.”

* * *

 

Sam in the conference room, was saying, “It's okay here, but some people take advantage because it's so relaxed,” he admitted, revealing his true feelings about his workplace. “I'm a volunteer sheriff's deputy on the weekends, and you cannot screw around there. It's one of the rules.”

* * *

 

“What is that?” asked Paul, amused.

“That's my stapler,” Sam answered, trying to wrench it out.

“No, no, no, do not take it out!” Paul instructed, laughing. “You have to eat it out of there, because there are starving people in the world,” he laughed. “And which I hate,” he confessed. “But it is a waste of that kind of food.” He pointed at the Jell-O.

Sam gestured at Benny. “Okay, you know what? You can be a witness.” Then, to Paul, he asked, “Can you reprimand him please?”

“How do you know it was me?” Dean questioned, eating Jell-O.

“It's always you,” Sam digressed. “Are you gonna discipline him or not?” he asked Paul.

“Ooh, discipline, kinky!” Paul laughed. “Alright, here's the deal, you guys, the thing about practical jokes, is that you have to know when to start, as well as when to stop!” He turned to Dean. “And yeah, Dean, now is the time to stop pulling Sam's personal effects into Jell-O.”

“Okay, Sam I'm sorry, because, I've always been your biggest flan,” Dean explained, laughing a little.

“Nice!” Paul laughed. “That's the way it is around here.”

Benny pointed at Dean, smiling vaguely. “You should have put him in custard-y.”

Paul laughed. “Yes, new guy! He scores!”

“Okay, that's great,” Sam sighed. “I guess what I'm most concerned with is damage to company property. That's all.”

“Pudding,” Paul whispered. “I'm trying to think, another dessert to do.”

* * *

 

Dean leaned over Cas’ desk. “Are you going out at the end of a week for a drink?”

“Yeah,” Cas agreed.

“Oh, ‘cause we’re all going out. So we can have an end of the week drink.” Dean grinned, popping an M&M into his mouth.

“Well, then when are we going out?” Cas asked, smiling and leaning forward.

“I don't know, tonight, hopefully,” Dean replied, chewing.

“Okay,” Cas nodded. “Yeah.” He looked up as the door opened.

“Hey, man,” Michael greeted Dean.

“What's going on?” Dean asked him.

“Hey,” Cas greeted him.

“Hey, baby!” Michael smiled, leaning over his desk and kissing him.

* * *

 

Cas, in the conference room, was giving the camera a strained smile. “Michael is my fianceé. We've been engaged about about three years, and we were supposed to get married in September, but I think we're gonna get married in the spring.” He managed a grin.

* * *

 

“Do you mind if I go out for a drink with these guys?” Cas asked Michael, leaning towards him.

“No, come on,” Michael shook his head. “Let's get out of here and go home.”

“Okay,” Cas resigned. “I’ll be out in a few minutes. It's, like, twenty past five and I still have to do my faxes.”

Dean turned to Michael. “You know, you should come with us, because you know, we’re going out and it could be a good chance for you to see what people are like outside the office,” he suggested, staring up at the ceiling when he noticed Michael ignoring him. “I think it could be fun.”

“No, it sounds good,” admitted Michael. “But seriously, we gotta get going.”

“No, yeah.” There were a few minutes of silence. “What's in the bag?” Dean asked.

Michael paused. “Just tell him I'll talk to him,” he requested, and strode away.

“No, definitely,” agreed Dean. “Alright dude, awesome, will do,” he called after Michael.

* * *

 

“Do I think I'll be invited to the wedding?” Dean asked the camera in the conference room. He didn't follow it up with anything.

* * *

 

In Paul's office, he and Benny were sitting down.

“So, have you felt the vibe yet?” Paul asked. “We work hard, we play hard. Sometimes we play hard when we should be working hard, right? I guess the atmosphere that I've created here is that I am a friend first, and a boss second. Probably an entertainer third.” Just then, someone knocked. “Just a second, right? Oh, hey, do you like the Jamie Kennedy Experiment? Yeah, Punk'd, and all that kind of stuff?”

Benny nodded, smiling slightly.

“You are going to be my accomplice, just go on with that, okay? All right, just follow my lead, don't pimp me, all right? Come in!”

Cas came in, bearing a sheet of paper.

“So corporate just said that, I don't want to-” Paul began.

“You got a fax,” Cas interrupted.

“Oh, thank you,” Paul told him.

Cas started to leave.

“Cas, Cas? Can you come in here for a sec? Just have a seat, I was gonna call you in anyway."

Cas complied, shutting the door reluctantly.

"So, you know Benny? As you know, there is going to be downsizing and you have made my life so much easier, in that I'm going to have to let you go first.”

Cas gasped. “What? Why?”

“Well, theft,” Paul explained. “And stealing.”

“Stealing? What am I supposed to have stolen?” Cas asked, eyes wide.

“Post-It notes.” Paul nodded.

“Post-It notes?” Cas seemed to be panicking slightly. “What are those worth, like 50 cents?”

“You steal a thousand Post-It notes at 50 cents a piece, then, you know, you've made a profit margin.” Paul shrugged. “Resell of business, Cas.”

“Are you serious?” Cas asked.

“Yeah,” Paul admitted.

“I can't believe this.” Cas was wide eyed. “I mean, I’ve never even stolen as much as a paper clip and now you're firing me.”

“And the best thing about it is that we are not gonna have to give you any severance pay, because that is gross misconduct, and, just. Clean out your desk. I'm sorry.”

Paul bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Cas started crying quietly, hiding his face in his hands.

Paul realized and told him quickly, “You've been X'd punk'd!”

Cas looked up helplessly.

“Surprise, it's a joke, we were joking around, you see? Okay, he was in on it. He was my accomplice.”

Benny shook his head, staring at the ground, unblinking.

“And we were messing around, booster thing, and we were showing the new guy around, to kind of, to give him the feel of the place, so. God, you were, we totally got you,” he explained.

“You're a jerk,” Cas told him in a crackly voice, before getting up and leaving.

“Well, I don't know about that.” Paul sat back.

* * *

 

“What is the most important thing for a company?” Paul asked the camera back in his office. “Is it the cash flow? Is it the inventory? No, it's the people. The people. My proudest moment here was not when I increased profits by 17%, or when I cut expenses without losing a single employee. No, no, no, no.” He shook his head. “It was when a young Guatemalan guy, first job in the country, barely spoke English, came up to me and said, ‘Mr. Hortman, would you be the godfather to my child?’ Wow, wow, wow. Didn't work out in the end. We had to let him go. He sucked.”

* * *

 

Cas walked up to Dean’s desk, smiling slightly.

“Hey.” “Hey, how are you?” he grinned, leaning back and swiveling in his chair.

“Good,” Cas smiled, sitting on Dean’s desk. “I thought you were going out for a drink with-”

“Oh, no,” Dean corrected. “How's your headache?”

“Better, thanks,” Cas grinned, fiddling with the pencils in Sam’s cup. “Are you…” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the door.

“Walking out?” Dean finished, grinning.

“Yes,” Cas agreed, smiling.

“Yes,” he answered. “Do you wanna?”

“Yeah,” Cas agreed, standing up.

“Great, let me just-” Dean leaned forward and then noticing the honking outside. “Oh, Michael-”

“Yeah, listen, have a nice weekend!” Cas called, grabbing his coat.

“Yeah, definitely, you too!” Dean called after him. “Enjoy it!” Dejected for a moment, he then brightened and pulled something from underneath his desk. “Come here…” he told the camera, walking into Paul's office. He lifted the cover off, revealing Paul's “World's Best Boss” mug floating in yellow Jell-O.


	2. Diversity Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After receiving complaints about an employee's unsolicited repeat performance of a risqué comedy routine, Paul leads a diversity training session.

“Good. I'd go with the rows,” Paul told the diversity instructor in the conference room. “That's a good idea.”

* * *

“Today is diversity day, and someone's going to come in and talk to us about diversity,” Paul explained to the camera in his office. “It's something that I've been pushing, that I've been wanting to push, for a long time and Corporate mandated it. And I never actually talked to Corporate about it,” he admitted. “They kind of beat me to the punch, the bastards.” Paul laughed a bit.

“But I was going to. And I think it's very important that we have this. I'm very, very excited.” He sat back, grinning and clasping his hands.

* * *

 

“That's the thing. It's very sturdy paper and on the back it says, ‘100% post-consumer content’,” Dean explained to the phone.

Sam turned on his paper shredder and began to feed documents (and a credit card) into it.

“What? Hello? Uh-huh. Wait. What? I'm sorry, Mr. Decker. I think I'm losing you.”

The shredder continued whirring because of Sam.

“Hello? Hello? Yeah. Hold on one second. I don't know. Hold on one second.” Dean turned to Sam. “Do you really have to do that right now?”

“Yes, I do,” Sam answered briskly. “I should have done it weeks ago, actually."

Dean rolled green eyes and redialed. “Mr. Decker, I'm sorry about that. What were you... Can you hold on one second? Yeah, just one second. Thanks.” He reached over and shut off the shredder, enjoying the sudden silence. “Hello? That's it. Perfect. So what I was saying…”

Sam leaned over and turned off the phone.

“Hello?” Dean asked frantically. Then, sighing, he set down his phone and put his face in his hands. “Thanks, Sam.” 

“Retaliation,” Sam explained. “Tit for tit.”   


Dean lifted his head and stared at Sam incredulously. “That is not the expression.”   


“Well, it should be,” Sam declared, continuing shredding.   


* * *

“This is my biggest sale of the year,” Dean explained to the camera in the conference room. “They love me over there for some reason. I'm not really sure why, but I make one call over there every year, just to renew their account, and that one call ends up being 25% of my commission for the whole year, so I buy a mini bottle of champagne, celebrate a little.” He sat up straighter.

“And this year I'm pushing recycled paper on them for one percent more. I know. I'm getting cocky. Right?” He grinned.

* * *

Dean ambled up to Cas’ desk, grabbed an M&M, and leaned over the desk. “Solitaire?”   


“Yeah, Freecell,” Cas replied, not taking his blue eyes from the screen.   


“Six on seven,” Dean suggested.   


“I know,” Cas smiled up at him. “I saw that.”   


“So then why didn't you do it?” Dean asked, smiling too and crossing his arms over the desk.   


“I'm saving that,” Cas explained. “‘Cause I like it when the cards go t-ts-ts-tch-tch-tch.”   


“Who doesn't love that?” Dean grinned, popping another M&M into his mouth.

* * *

Paul was hovering around the door of the conference room when Mr. Brown opened it. He then decided to walk over to Kevin.   


“Hey, Kevin! How are you doing, man?”   


Kevin nodded, smiling politely. “Alright.”   


“Did you have a good weekend going there?” Paul asked, positioning his hands on his hips.   


“It was fine,” Kevin answered, confused now.   


“Oh yeah, I bet it was fun,” Paul told him. Then, noticing Mr. Brown, he said, “Oh, hey! This is Kevin…?”

“Tran,” Kevin replied.

“Right,” Paul confirmed. “See? I don't even know, first-name basis!”

“Great,” Mr. Brown smiled faintly. “We're all set.”   


“Oh, hey, well, diversity, everybody, let's do it.” He glanced at Dean, who was still on the phone. “Dean, could you wrap it up, please?”   


“Yeah, uh, Mr. Decker.” Dean ignored him.   


“It's diversity day, Dean,” Paul reminded him. “I wish every day was diversity day.”   


“You know what? I'm actually going to have to call you back.” Dean smiled vaguely. “Thank you. Sorry about that.”

* * *

In the conference room, Mr. Brown was handing out cards. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Great.”

“Come on, people, let's get 'em in,” Paul called. “Get in the cards! Get in the cards!”

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Mr. Brown smiled robotically. “Okay. Thanks for filling these out, and I promise this'll be quick. At Diversity Today, our philosophy is about honesty and positive expectations. We believe that 99% of the problems in the workplace arise simply out of ignorance.”

“You know what?” Paul chimed in. “This is a color-free-zone here. Rufus, I don't look at you as another race.”   


“Uh, see this is what I'm talking about,” Mr. Brown admitted. “We don't have to pretend we're color-blind.”

“Exactly, we’re not…” Paul struggled for words.

“That's fighting ignorance with more ignorance,” Mr. Brown explained.

“With tolerance.” Paul glanced at the camera.

“No,” Mr. Brown corrected. “With more ignorance."

“Ignorance,” Paul tried.

“Right. Exactly,” Mr. Brown praised. “Uh, instead, we need to celebrate our diversity.”

“Let's celebrate!” Paul instructed loudly.

“Right. Okay,” Mr. Brown agreed, now slightly irritated.

“Celebrate good times. Come on! Let's celebrate diversity. Right?” Paul’s hazel eyes flitted to Mr. Brown for confirmation.

“Yes, exactly. Now here's what we're going to do. I've noticed that…” Mr. Brown shuffled through the index cards in his hands.

“You know what?” Paul decided. “Here's what we're going to do. Why don't we go around, and everybody say a race that you are attracted to sexually. I will go last. Go.”

Sam raised his hand. “I have two. White and Indian.”

In the corner of the room, Kali tightened her grip on the papers in her hands.

“Actually, I'd prefer not to start that way,” Mr. Brown stated. “Paul, I would love to have your permission to run this session. Can I have your permission?”   


“Yes,” Paul agreed, flattered.   


“Thank you very much. And it would also help me if you were seated.”   


“Okay,” Paul agreed, and sat down.   


“Thank you. Okay. Now, at the start of the session, I had you all write down an incident that you found offensive in the workplace.” Mr. Brown squinted at the audience, where Dean was fiddling with a string on his sleeve and Jess was studying her nails. “Now, what I'm going to do is choose one and we're going to act it out.”   


“A few of the ground rules?” Sam raised his hand.   


“Hey, hey, why don't you run it by me and I'll run it by him,” Paul suggested.   


“Okay, can we steer away from gay people?” Sam requested.   


“Um…” Mr. Brown was now visibly uncomfortable.

“I'm sorry. It's an orientation. It's not a race. Plus, a lot of other races are intolerant of gays, so...paradox.” Sam glanced at Cas. “No offense, Cas.”

“Sam,” Dean warned, shaking his head.

“Well, we only have an hour,” Mr. Brown informed him.

“I figured it would save time.”

“Okay. Why don't we just defer to Mr…” Paul trailed off.   


“Mr. Brown,” he said.   


“Ah.” Suddenly, a light came to Paul’s eyes. “Oh, right! Okay. First test. I will not call you that.”   


“Well, it's my name. It's not a test.” Mr. Brown shuffled through the cards in his hands. “Um, so looking through the cards, I've noticed that many of you wrote down the same incident, which is ironic, because it's the exact incident I was brought in here to respond to. Now, how many of you are familiar with the Chris Rock routine?”   


Everyone raised their hands.

“Very good. Okay.”

* * *

 

Back in his office, Paul was indignant. “How come Chris Rock can do a routine and everybody finds it hilarious and ground-breaking and then I go and do the exact same routine, same comedic timing, and people file a complaint to Corporate? Is it because I'm white and Chris is black?” He sat back.   


* * *

Back in the conference room, Mr. Brown was explaining. “So we're going to reenact this with a more positive outcome.”

“I will play the Chris Rock guy,” Paul volunteered. “I would like to see someone else pull this off.”

“Well, let's have someone who wasn't involved in the reenactment,” Mr. Brown requested.   


“Okay, I will play Guy Listening,” Paul declared.   


“Great,” Mr. Brown agreed. “Guy Listening. Okay, anyone else remember?”   


“I remember,” Gabe volunteered.   


Mr. Brown was relieved. “Great. You're the Chris Rock guy and you're Guy Listening.”   


“Okay,” Paul agreed reluctantly.

* * *

“Gabe is a great guy,” Paul told the camera in his office. “He's a great accountant. He is not much of an entertainer.”

* * *

“Basically, there are two types of black people, and black people are actually more racist because they hate the other type of black people. Every time the one type wants to have a good time, then the other type comes in and makes a real mess,” Gabe imitated robotically.   


* * *

“Okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He's ruin... He's butchering it. Could you just let me-” Paul interrupted. Then, as Chris Rock: “Every time...  _ Every _ time black people want to have a good time, some ignant ass... [ _Bleep_ ] I take care of my kid!”

“Wait a second,” Mr. Brown interrupted.

“[ _Bleep_ ] They always want credit for something they supPOSED to do!” Paul yelled.

“Stop it!” Mr. Brown shouted.

Still as Chris Rock, Paul asked, “What you want, a cookie?”

* * *

 

Outside the conference room, Dean’s phone was ringing.

“Now, this is a simple acronym. HERO. Uh, at Diversity Today, we believe it is very easy to be a HERO. All you need are honesty, empathy, respect and open-mindedness,” Mr. Brown explained.

Sam thrust his hand into the air. “Excuse me, I'm sorry, but that's not all it takes to be a hero.”

“Oh, great. Well, what is a hero to you?” Mr. Brown asked kindly.

“A hero kills people, people that wish him harm.” Sam crossed his arms.

Mr. Brown was, again, confused. “Okay.”

“A hero is part-human and part-supernatural. A hero is born out of a childhood trauma, or out of a disaster that must be avenged.” Sam started counting on his fingers.

“Oh, you're thinking of a superhero,” Mr. Brown realized.

“We all have a hero in our heart.” Sam sat back.

The camera zoomed in on Mr. Brown’s face, which he was clearly fighting to keep neutral.

* * *

 

“Now, I need you to take these forms. This kind of expresses the joint experience we had today. And I need you to look 'em over and sign them as kind of a group pledge.”

Paul cleared his throat. “I don't think I can sign this.”

Mr. Brown was exasperated. “I can't leave until you do.”

“Well, okay, it says here that I learned something and I knew all this stuff already, so…” Paul trailed off. “I know, I could sign something that says that I taught something, or that I helped you teach something, so…” He craned his neck, searching. “Cas! Where is he? Cas, could we change something on this?”

* * *

Mr. Brown sighed. “Paul, can I talk to you candidly?”

“Sure,” Paul agreed.

* * *

In Paul’s office, Mr. Brown appeared tired. “We both know that I'm here because of the comments you made.”

“Here's the thing,” Paul began. “This office, I think, is very advanced in terms of- of racial awareness and it's probably more advanced than you're used to. That's probably throwing you off a little bit,” Paul said graciously.

“Um, it's not throwing me. I need your signature.” Mr. Brown cleared his throat.   


“Okay, well I know. You told me that several times.” Paul was also irritated now.

“Yes, but you're not listening to me. Yours is the only signature I need.”

Paul rubbed his temple.

“Those are my instructions from the Corporate offices, to put you through this seminar for the comments that you made. The reason I made copies for everyone was so you wouldn't be embarrassed.”

Paul was indignant. “Well, here I am thinking that you actually cared about diversity training. And you don't.” He began to fill in the form.

“Don't worry about dating.”

“I won't.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Paul waved him out of the office

* * *

Paul, now alone in his office, was talking to the camera and reading the form he filled in. “‘I regret my actions. I regret offending my coworkers. I pledge to bring my best spirit of honesty, empathy, respect and open-mindedness…’ Open-mindedness, is that even a word? ‘...into the workplace. In this way, I can truly be a hero. Signed, Daffy Duck.’” Paul started laughing. “He's going to lose it when he reads that.”

* * *

“Yeah, hi. Is Mr. Decker around?” Dean asked the phone. “Oh, well, could you just have him call me after lunch? Thank you.”

Paul then walked into the office, and started reading the form. “‘I pledge to always keep an open mind and an open heart.’” He tore the sheet apart. “I do believe... in that part of the pledge I that just read. But a pledge? Come on. I mean who are we, the Girl Scouts? No. Look... the guy, ‘Mr. Brown,’ he got us halfway there. He got us talking. Well, no. I got us talking. He got us nothing. He insulted us and he abandoned us. You call that diversity training? I don't. Were there any connections between any of us?”

He gestured between himself and Dean.

“Did anyone look each other in the eye? Was there any emotion going on? No. Where was the heart? I didn't see any heart. Where was my  _ Oprah moment _ ? Okay,  get as much done as you can before lunch because, afterward, I'm going to have you all in tears.”

* * *

“All right? Everybody pretty? Come on. Here we go. It's time. Let's do some good,” Paul declared, setting up chairs in the conference room.

Chuck, entering the room, said with a laugh to Gabe, “Hey, we're not all going to sit in a circle Indian style are we?”   


Paul was dead serious. “Get out.”   


“I'm sorry,” Chuck apologized.   


“No, this is not a joke. Okay?” Paul was getting aggressive now. “That was offensive and lame. So double offensive. This is an environment of welcoming and you should just get the hell out of here.”

Chuck left.

“Okay, let's go. Let's do it. Come on. Let's have some fun, everybody. Here we go. Take a seat. Cop a squat. And um... thanks for coming in. Um... Diversity... is the cornerstone of progress as I've always said. But don't take my word for it. Let's take a look at the tape.” He pointed the remote at the tiny television stand.

On the tape, Paul was standing in front of the logo in the hallway, saying, “Hi. I'm Paul Hortman. I'm in charge of Dunder Mifflin Paper Products here in Scranton, Pennsylvania but I'm also the founder of Diversity Tomorrow, because today is almost over. Abraham Lincoln once said that, ‘If you're a racist, I will attack you with the North.’ And those are the principles that I carry with me in the workplace.”

Paul switched the television off. “Okay. Questions? Comments? Anybody?”

Dean raised his hand.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Uh, is that it?” Dean gave Cas a small sideways look, eyes sparkling. Cas laughed into his hand. 

“Yes,” Paul admitted. “I only had an hour to put it together but I'm going to add on to it later on.”

Gabe raised his hand. “It was kind of hard to hear.”   


“Uh, yes. That probably had something to do with the camera work.” Paul pursed his lips. “Anybody else? Um…”   


“I have a customer meeting,” Kali said. Benny glanced up at her and smiled.   


“Yeah, well, if you leave we'll only have two left,” Paul admitted quietly. 

Dean glanced at the camera quizzically with a grin.

Then, louder, Paul said: “Yes. Enjoy. Absolutely. Namaste. Okay, well since I am leading this, let's get down to business and why don't I just kind of introduce myself, Okay? Um. I am Paul and I am part English, Irish, German and Scottish. Sort of a virtual United Nations. But what some of you might not know is that I am also part Native American Indian.”

“What part Native American?” asked Kevin.   


“Two fifteenths,” Paul explained.   


“Two fifteenths, that fraction doesn't make any sense,” Kevin told him, confused.   


“Well, you know what, it's kinda hard for me to talk about it. Their suffering.” Paul moved on. “So who else? Let's get this popping. Come on. Who's going? Who's going? Let's go here. Kevin, right here. You're on.”   


Kevin gave a small laugh. “Okay, Paul, um... One of my parents is from Hong Kong, and one is from Malaysia.”

Paul feigned extreme interest. “Oh, yeah…”   


“And, uh, they moved to the United States a year before I was born. So I grew up in the United States.”   


“Wow.”   


“Yeah.”

“Wow.” Paul sat back. “That is... That is a great story. That's the American Dream right there, right?”

“Thank…” Kevin nodded. “Yeah…”   


“Um, let me ask you, is there a term besides Asian that you prefer? Something less offensive?” Paul inquired.   


“Asian isn't offensive. I mean, it's a broad term,” Kevin admitted.

“Well, it has certain connotations,” Paul told him.

“Like what?” asked Kevin, alert now.

“Like... I don't... I don't know,” Paul stammered.   


“What connotations, Paul? You meant something.” Kevin clasped his hands.   


“No,” Paul denied. “Now, remember that honesty…”   


“I'm just curious.”   


“Honesty...empathy, respect…” Paul began.

Outside the conference room, Dean’s phone started ringing. Dean ran to answer it.

“Dean! Dean!” Paul reprimanded.

Dean picked up. “Hello? Hello?”   


* * *

 

“I have something here.” Paul waved a stack of index cards. “I want you to take one. Put it on your fore... Don't look at the card. I want you to take the card and put it on your forehead and... Take a card, take a card, any card. Um... And I want you to treat other people like the race that is on their forehead. Okay? So everybody has a different race. Nobody knows what their race is, so... I want you to really go for it, cause this is real. You know, this isn't just an exercise. This is real life. And... I have a dream that you will really let the sparks fly. Get 'er done.”

* * *

“Why?” Paul answered in his office. “Because Martin Luther King is a hero of mine. There's this great Chris Rock bit about how streets named after Martin Luther King tend to be more violent. I'm not going to do it, but it's…”

* * *

Paul came up to Cas and Rufus. “Oh, this is a good one.”

“Um, hi,” said Cas, forehead labeled, “Jewish”. “How are you?”

“Fine. How are you?” Rufus asked, rolling his eyes when he saw Paul.

“Great.” Cas smiled faintly.

“Push it,” Paul instructed quietly.

“I admire your culture's success in America.” Rufus ignored Paul.

“Thank you,” Cas said mildly.   


“Good. Bom bom bom-bom bom. Come on, Olympics of Suffering right here!” Paul urged. “Slavery versus the Holocaust. Come on.”   


“Who am I supposed to be?” asked Rufus irritably, taking the card off his forehead and reading it- “Black”.   


“No, that was inadvertent,” Paul reasoned. “We didn't actually plan that.”

* * *

“Lots of cultures eat rice, that doesn't help me,” Sam told Cas. Then, glancing at the card on his forehead: “Um... Shalom. I'd like to apply for a loan.”

“That's nice, Sam,” said Cas with mild sarcasm.

“Okay, do me,” Sam ordered, oblivious to the innuendo. “Something stereotypical so I can get it really quick.”

“Okay,” Cas agreed. “I like your food.”

Sam thought for a moment. “Outback steakhouse.” Then in an Australian accent: “I'm Australian, mate!”

“Cas, come on,” Paul whined. “‘I like your food.’ Come on, stir the pot. Stir the melting pot, Cas! Let's do it. Let's get ugly. Let's get real,” he urged.

“Okay,” Cas sighed. “If I have to do this, based on stereotypes that are totally untrue, that I do not agree with, you would maybe not be a very good driver.”

“Oh, man!” Sam cried. “Am I a woman?”

* * *

Paul told the camera in his office, “You'll notice I didn't have anybody be an Arab. I thought that would be too explosive. No pun intended. But I just thought, ‘Too soon for Arabs.’ Maybe next year. Um... You know, the ball's in their court.”

* * *

Dean walked up to Benny, who was sitting at Cas' desk. “What are you watching?”

Benny looked up at him and smiled slightly. “Chappelle's Show.”

Dean grinned. “Really?”

Benny nodded. “I downloaded it on his computer. I hope he doesn't mind. He just had a lot of extra space.”

“No way,” Dean replied. “I think he likes this stuff.”

“Great,” Benny nodded. “He's cute, huh?”

“Yeah, you know, he's engaged, but…” Dean trailed off.

“Oh, no, the guy in the... sketch.” Benny glanced up at him.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean quickly agreed. “He's hot.”

* * *

“Hey,” Gabe said, wearing a card reading “Italian”.

“Hey,” said Jess, forehead labeled “Jamaican”.

“You wanna go to the beach?” Gabe asked.

“Sure.” Jess smiled nervously.

“You wanna get high?” He grinned.

“ _ No _ ,” said Jess, scandalized.

“I think you do, mon,” Gabe insisted.

“Stop!” she insisted.

“Okay,” Paul stepped in. “All right. No. It's good. You just need to push it. You need to go a little bit further. All right. Okay.” He turned to Kali, who just walked in. In an exaggerated Indian accent, he asked: “Kali, how are you?”

“Oh, I just had the longest meeting,” she demurred, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Paul ignored her reply. “Oh! Welcome to my convenience store. Would you like some googi googi? I have some very delicious googi googi, only 99 cents plus tax. Try my googi googi.” He lowered his voice. “Try my googi googi.” Then, in a higher-pitched voice: “Try my googi googi. Try my-”

Kali slapped him and left.

Trying not to cry, Paul said loudly, “All right! All right! Yes! That was great, she gets it! Now she knows what it's like to be a minority.”

* * *

On the phone, Dean held it between his ear and shoulder. “Mr. Decker, we didn't lose your sale today, did we? Excellent. Okay. Let me just get your... what's that? No, we didn't close last time. I just need your... Oh. What code were you given?” His expression became blank. “Oh, Okay. That's actually another salesman here. I can redo it if you want to do that. Oh, he gave you a discount? No, I don't blame you.”

* * *

Dean put his champagne on Sam's desk.

* * *

In the conference room, Paul was straddling his chair. “I just hated it when that guy was in here. Mr. Brown, if that was his real name. I mean, he had never met any of us before, and here he was telling us how to do our thing. I just wanted... I just wanted to do it our way,” he admitted. “You know? On our own. Man, I should have gotten some food.”

Cas dropped his head onto Dean’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Maybe some spagh-etti,” Gabe suggested in an Italian accent, still wearing his card.

“Okay, Gabe,” Paul sighed. “You can take that off that thing, okay? Anyway, that would really have shown him up, wouldn't it? If I'd brought in some burritos or some colored greens. Or some pad Thai. I love pad Thai.”

Rufus spoke up. “It's collard greens.”

“What?” Paul asked.

“It's collard greens,” Rufus repeated.

“That doesn't really make sense. Because you don't call them collard people, that's offensive,” Paul admitted. “Okay, well, it's after five. So... Thank you very much. Nǐ hǎo, Kevin. Thank you. Good job. Oh, my man. Thank you, Brazil. Nice.”

In the corner, Cas was still asleep, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean nudged him gently. “Um... Hey.”

Cas stirred. “Mmmm.”

“Hey,” Dean smiled.

“Oh,” said Cas, sitting up straighter.

“We can go,” Dean told him. 

“Sorry,” said Cas, eyes wide.

“That's fine.” Dean smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling.

* * *

In the conference room, Dean flashed the camera a smile. “Uh... Not a bad day.” He looked down, still grinning.


	3. Health Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company is cutting back on health care, which means switching to a plan with fewer benefits. Paul sends Sam to tell the employees.

Paul walked up to Cas’ desk and drummed his fingers on it. “Cas. Castiel. Cas-a-lass-a-ding-dong. Makin’ copies.”

Cas looked up at him nervously. “I'm not making any copies.”

“Let's go. Messages. Stat.” Paul glanced at the camera. “Lots to do, lots to do. Information superhighway.”

Cas shook his head slightly. “Nothing new.”

“Lay them on me,” Paul continued.

“There's nothing new,” Cas repeated.

Paul was confused. “That's not what you said earlier.”

“Oh, do you want me to repeat the messages that I gave you before, for the…” Cas eyed the camera and nodded towards it.

* * *

Paul, in his office, told the camera: “The most sacred thing I do is care and provide for my workers, my family. I give them money. I give them food. Not directly, but through the money. I heal them.” He grinned.

“Today, I am in charge of picking a great new health care plan. Right? That's what this is all about. Does that make me their doctor?” Paul thought. “Um... Yes, in a way. Yeah, like a specialist.”

* * *

Rowena leaned forward in her seat across from Paul. “So, which health plan have you decided on?”

Paul sat back in his chair. “I am going to go with the best, Rowena. I am going to go with the one with the acupuncture, therapeutic massage, you know. The works.”

Rowena started. “Wait, acupuncture? None of the plans have acupuncture. Have you looked at them closely, Paul?”

“I think it was you who didn't look closely enough at the Gold Plan,” Paul retorted.

“The Gold Plan?” Rowena blinked. “I'm not even on that plan.”

“Well, I'd recommend it,” Paul advised. “It's very good.”

Rowena was exasperated. “Paul.”

“You gotta crack these things open,” Paul remarked.

“You know, the whole reason that we're doing this is to save money,” Rowena explained. “So you just need to pick a provider and choose the cheapest plan.”

“Well, that is kind of a tough assignment,” Paul admitted. “Um... It won't be popular decision around the old orifice.”

“It's your job, so…” Rowena trailed off, glancing at the camera that was zooming on her face.

“Well, it's a suicide mission, you know,” Paul informed her.

“Paul,” she sighed. “Maybe... I mean… sometimes a manager, like yourself, has to deliver the bad news to the employees. I do it all the time.”

Paul scoffed. “When have you ever done that?”

Rowena stared at him. “I'm doing it right now. To you.”

* * *

Dean leaned over Cas’ desk. “Last night on _Trading Spouses_ , there's... have you seen it?”

“No,” Cas smiled. “I have a life.”

Dean chewed on his candy thoughtfully. “Interesting. What's that like?”

Cas laughed. “You should try it sometime.”

“Wow,” Dean grinned. He feigned seriousness. “But then who would watch my TV? That, that is-”

“-your problem,” Cas finished, laughing.

Paul walked up to them then. “Dean bean! I need you for something.”

* * *

In his office, Paul was explaining to Dean, “There's a decision that needs to be made, and I'm having an unbelievably busy day.”

Dean glanced at the To-Do box- just a Post-It that read “Dry Cleaning” in Cas’ neat cursive.

“-So I'm going to let you pick a health care plan for our office and then explain it to your co-workers.”

“Gosh.” Dean feigned flattery.

Paul was excited. “Yeah!”

“That is a great offer,” Dean nodded. “Thank you. I just really think I should be concentrating on sales.”

“Really?” Paul asked.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “I just don't think this is the kind of task, that I... am going to do. You know who would be great for this?”

* * *

In the conference room, Dean told the camera cheerfully, “Any time Paul asks me to do anything, I just tell him that Sam should do it.”

* * *

Sam sat up straighter in his chair across from Paul. “Yes. I can do it. I'm your man.” He almost saluted, but thought better of it.

* * *

Back in the conference room, Dean explained his reasoning for not doing anything, ever. “Right now, this is just a job. If I advance any higher in this company then this would be my career. And uh, well, if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train.” His expression was resolved.

* * *

Sam leaned forward in his chair across from Paul. “Okay, first, let's go over some parameters. How many people can I fire?” He pulled out a notepad.

“Uh, none,” Paul shook his head. “You're picking a health care plan.”

“Okay, we'll table that for the time being. Two, I'll need an office. I think the conference room should be fine.” Sam glanced up at Paul.

His boss sighed. “You can use the conference room as a _temporary workspace_.”

“Yes, I have an office,” Sam muttered to himself. He glanced at the camera and whispered, “Bigger than his.”

“Nope, you cannot use it,” Paul declared.

“Okay, I take it back, it's a workspace,” Sam said quickly.

“Temporary workspace,” Paul agreed. “You can use it.”

“Thank you.” Sam sat back.

* * *

Paul explained later, alone in his office, “If Sam fails, then that is strike two, and good for me for, uh, for giving him a second chance. And if he succeeds, then, you know, no one will be prouder than I am. I groomed him. I made him what he is today.”

He shrugged. “Unless he fails, and we've talked about that already.

* * *

In the office, Sam was handing out memos. Dean took his and looked over to Cas, who had finished reading it and was grinning at him.

Jackpot.

* * *

“What did I do?” Sam answered in the conference room. “I did my job. I slashed benefits to the bone. I saved this company money. Was I too harsh? Maybe. I don't believe in coddling people.”

He grew somber. “In the wild, there is no health care. In the wild, health care is, ‘Ow, I hurt my leg. I can't run. A lion eats me and I'm dead.’” His glasses flashed. “Well, I'm not dead. I'm the lion. You're dead.”

* * *

“There's no dental, there's no vision, there's a $1,200 deductible,” Rufus grumbled to his desk clump mate, Ellen Harvelle, who pinched the bridge of her nose.

* * *

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Cas,” he said.

On the phone, Paul said jauntily, “Cas, Paul Hortman. How's tricks?”

Cas ignored this. “Where are you?”

“Oh, I am in my office. I am swamped. I have work up to my ears I'm busy, busy, busy.” Through the closed blinds, the camera showed him playing with a toy car. “Can't step away. I just wanted to check in and see how everybody's doing. Everybody cool out there?”

“Actually, people are really unhappy,” Cas told him. “Um, Sam sent around this memo and people are freaking out 'cause the…”

“Cas! Whoa, whoa, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I, I, I, I gotta go. I'm getting a call.”

“No, you're not.” Cas made eye contact with Dean and rolled his eyes.

“I have to make a call after I finish... my work. You know what?” Cas looked up from his computer, at the closed door to Paul’s office. “Uh, just don't let anybody in my office under any conditions today. I'm just too busy. Too swamped, you know? I am unreachable. I am incommunicado, capisce?”

“Yeah, I capisce,” Cas agreed.

“Thank you, oh, gah, here we go again. Gotta go, I have to take this!”

Cas closed his eyes for longer than a blink. “Still no one calling.”

* * *

Dean and Cas walked into the conference room. “Sam, what…” Cas began.

“Uh, knock, please. Please knock,” Sam interrupted, finger lifted and pausing them. “This is an office.”

“It says ‘workspace,’” Dean pointed out.

“Same thing,” Sam shot back.

“If it's the same thing, then why did you write ‘workspace’?” Dean asked.

“Just knock, please?” Sam requested, irritated. “As a sign of respect for your superior.”

“You are not my superior,” Dean disagreed.

“Oh, gee, then why do I have an office?” asked Sam sarcastically.

Dean was confused. “I thought it was a workspace?”

Cas sighed. “Okay. Sam. Are you really in charge of picking the health care plan?”

“Yes,” Sam confirmed. “And my decision in final.”

Cas shook the page slightly. “This is a ridiculously awful plan. Because you cut everything.”

“Aww, times are tough, Cas,” Sam retorted. “Deal with it.”

“You cut more than you had to, didn't you?” Dean questioned.

“Sure,” Sam agreed.

“Well, why did you do that?” Dean glanced at Cas in exasperation. “You work here, don't you want good insurance?”

“Don't need it.” Sam went back to his work. “Never been sick. Perfect immune system.”

“Okay, well, if you've never been sick, then you don't have any antibodies,” Dean pointed out.

“I don't need them. Superior genes. I'm a Wesson. And superior brain power,” he added. “Through concentration, I can raise and lower my cholesterol at will.”

Cas stared at him and asked slowly, “Why would you want to raise your cholesterol?”

Sam made eye contact. “So I can lower it.”

* * *

Kevin peered over at Paul’s office. “He literally won't come out of his office.”

“He's got to come out sometime,” Gabe giggled. “To go to the bathroom.”

“Gabe!” Jess scolded. “That's inappropriate.”

* * *

Kevin cornered Paul in the kitchen. “Paul, can I talk to you?”

“Ah, uh, I would love to, but I am really busy. Rain check?” Paul asked, grabbing his coffee and preparing to run.

“Paul. Paul, please, can we talk to you about this memo?” Pam asked, winking at Benny, who stopped staring at her ass and looked away quickly.

“Ah, what? Which memo?” Paul attempted to make a distance between himself and his employees.

“Sam's health care memo,” Cas interrupted. “I told you about it.”

“Is it a good plan?” Paul asked, eyes flitting between his employees.

“It's a great plan,” Sam advocated. “It saves the company a fortune.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “It's like a pay _decrease_.”

“Paul, he made huge cuts,” said Cas pleadingly.

“Cuts? What? Wow, Sam, did you make cuts?” Paul scoffed.

“Yeah, you said…” Sam began.

Paul gave an exaggerated groan. “No, no , no, you know what? I said nothing specific because I was so busy. Why don't you go in there and find these people a plan that will work for them? Okay?”

Sam nodded very hard. “I can handle that.”

“Okay? All right. Do we feel good? All right. Good. Plus, there's some other good news.” Paul grinned at his employees. “Today, at the end of the day, I will have, for all of you, a big surprise. Okay? So hang in there, and I will see you at the end of the day. Alright?”

* * *

Kevin rubbed his forehead. “This is not good.”

“It's ridiculous,” Jess agreed. “Did you talk to him?”

Kevin’s eyebrows creased. “What was that?”

“You let him walk all over you.” Jess wrinkled her nose. “It's just pathetic.”

Gabe walked up to them. “What are you guys talking about?”

Jess rolled her eyes. “Nothing, Gabe.”

* * *

In his office, Paul was indignant. “Do I know what the surprise is? Hell no! It doesn't matter. The point is, they're not unhappy anymore. They're out there thinking, ‘Wow, my boss really cares about me. He has a surprise. He's cool. I... what a great guy. I love him. I... love him.’”

* * *

“Okay, everyone. Gather round. Step forward,” Sam announced, coming out of his workspace. “It has been brought to my attention that some of you are unhappy with my plan. So what I'd like you to do is to fill this out and write down any diseases you have that you might want covered and I'll see what I can do.”

Dean swiveled around to face him, slouching in his chair. “Okay, you know what, Sam? We can't write our diseases down for you because that's confidential.”

“Okay, well, I didn't say to write your name down, did I?” Sam retorted. “Fill it out, leave it anonymous. Or, don't write any disease down at all and it won't be covered. Sound fair? Good. I'll be in my office.”

“Workspace.” Dean whispered, making eye contact with Cas, who laughed.

* * *

“You know what? Come with me.” Paul beckoned the camera, pushing at the door. “We are going on a little mission. Operation Surprise.”

“Where are you going?” asked Cas quickly.

“Um, headed out. Part of my busy day, you know. Meetings.” Paul giggled, hand groping the door before he pushed through. “Couldn't find the knob.”

* * *

Paul clasped his hands and leaned forward. “So, basically, I want to do something nice for my employees. Atlantic City, okay? They have this thing where they send a bus, right, for free. Picks everybody up, you head down there, get to the hotel, room is comped, they give you a pile of chips, and your food, everything just kind of all-inclusive, free kind of weekend.

The travel agent looked at him carefully. “I don't know of anything like that, but, um, you know what you might want to do, is just call those casinos directly.”

Paul sighed. “Yeah, I did.”

* * *

Dean craned his neck to see what Cas was writing. “Wait. What are you writing? Don't write Ebola or mad cow disease, alright? 'Cause I'm suffering from both.”

Cas looked up at him coyly. “I'm inventing new diseases.”

Dean felt something flutter in his stomach. “Oh, great.”

Cas sat up straighter and picked up his sheet. “So, let's say my teeth turn to liquid and then, they drip down the back of my throat. What would you call that?”

“I thought you said you were inventing diseases?” Dean smiled down at him, fingers drumming on his leg. “That's spontaneous dental hydroplosion.”

Cas grinned and wrote it down. “Nice.”

Dean went back to his sheet. “Thank you.”

* * *

Paul sat in his car. “Calling you to ask you a little favoroonie, my friend. Um, trying to give the troops around here a little bit of a boost. And I was thinking that maybe we could take them down to take a spin on your big ride.”

The man on the phone said, “You mean the elevator that takes you down into the mineshaft? It's not really a ride.”

“It says here that it's a three hundred foot drop.”

“It goes three hundred feet into the Earth, but it moves really slowly.”

“So it's not a free fall?” Paul asked.

“It's an industrial coal elevator.”

“Uh, alright,” Paul said. “Well, once you get down into the mine, what... you got laser tag or something?”

* * *

Paul, back in his office, was visibly tense. “Okay, so I don't know what the surprise is. Am I worried? No. No way. See, I thrive on this. This is my world. This is improv. This is ‘Whose Line is it Anyway’?”

* * *

From his temporary workspace, Sam yelled, “Damnit! Damnit, Dean!” He strode into the office, brandishing a sheet of paper. “Alright, who did this? I'm not mad. I just want to know who did it so I can punish them.”

Dean feigned innocence. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone forged medical information,” Sam declared. “And that is a felony.”

Dean held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, whoa. 'Cause that is a pretty intense accusation. How do you know that they're fake?”

“Uh, leprosy?” Sam read from the sheet, eyes flashing. He shuffled the papers. “Flesh eating bacteria. Hot-dog fingers. Government-created killer nanorobot infection. You did this, didn't you?”

Dean shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes, you did!” Sam insisted.

“No, I didn't,” Dean also insisted, winking at Cas, who was watching the whole thing with increasing amusement.

“I know it was you,” Sam said angrily. “Fine. You know what? I'll have to interview each and every one of you until the perpetrator makes him or herself known. And until that time, there will be no health care coverage for anyone!”

He retreated back into his workspace.

Dean turned to Cas and asked with amusement: “Killer nanorobots?”

“It's an epidemic,” said Cas knowledgeably, nodding.

* * *

Sam looked through the forms. “The problem, Dean, is that people who are really suffering from a medical condition won't receive the care they need, because someone in this office is coming up with all this ridiculous stuff.” He read off the paper: “‘Count Choculitis.’”

“Sounds tough.” Dean watched Cas through the window. He was eating yogurt- raspberry, of course.

Sam leaned forward. “Why did you write that down, Dean? Is it because you know I love Count Chocula?”

Dean thought for a moment. “Do you?”

“I think you need to confess-” Sam began.

“-Mmm hmm,” said Dean, getting up.

Sam watched him with irritation. “...the fact…”

Dean reached over and grabbed Sam’s keys. “Yep.”

“What are you doing?” Sam yelled. “Those are my keys!”

Dean grinned. “Good luck.” He closed the door and locked it.

Sam pounded on the door. “Dean! Damnit! No! Dean! Let me out! Dean! Let…”

Without looking, Dean threw his keys to his left. They landed on a shelf next to Rufus.

Rufus glanced at the keys, and continued talking on the phone. “...the light green or green…”

* * *

He picked up his phone. “Dean Winchester.”

“Let me out.” Sam’s tone was final.

“Who is this?” Dean asked.

“Let me out or you're fired,” Sam told him.

Dean shook his head. “No, you can't fire me”.

“Yes, I can,” Sam insisted. “I'm manager for the day. Clean out your desk.”

Dean grinned. “Okay, can you hold on? I'm getting the, ah, beep.” He pressed a button on his phone. “Dean Winchester.”

Cas said to the phone: “Hey, Dean. It's Cas.”

Dean grinned and swiveled in his chair. “Hey, Cas! How are you?”

“Dean! Open the door!” Sam shouted, banging on the door.

“Good, how are you?” Cas replied. “Busy?”

“I'm doin’ okay,” Dean drawled, enjoying watching Sam through the door. “Getting excited for the weekend though. What are you up to?”

Sam yelled, “Dean!”

“Um, I'm not bothering you, am I?” asked Cas coyly.

Dean grinned over at him. “No, not at all.”

“You don't have anything you're doing?” Cas questioned further.

“I have nothing to do,” Dean informed him.

Sam attempted to kick down the door. “Dean!”

Cas laughed a little. “Oh, great. Um, no, this weekend? Nothing. I'm not really doing anything.”

“Dean!” Sam screamed.

Dean ignored this. “Oh, yeah?”

Cas sat back in his chair. “I might go to the mall.”

“The mall?” Dean was intrigued.

Sam shoved at the door with his shoulder. “Dean!”

“I need new shoes,” Cas told the phone.

“Oh, interesting.” Dean paused. “What kind of shoes?”

* * *

Rowena picked up. “Hello?”

“Uh, hello,” said Sam awkwardly. “Uh, this is Sam Wesson calling for Rowena MacLeod- Fisher.”

There was a pause. “This is Rowena.”

Sam nodded. “Hi. Sam Wesson calling, acting manager, Scranton branch. Listen, I needed your permission to fire Dean Winchester.”

Rowena chose to ignore this last request. “Who is this?”

He paused. “Sam Wesson.”

“From sales?”

“Well…” he trailed off.

“Where's Paul Hortman?” Rowena asked.

“He is not here right now,” Sam explained. “He put me in charge of the office.”

Rowena sighed. “Sam, listen to me very carefully. You are not a manager of anything. Understand?”

“That's not entirely true,” Sam argued. “Because he put me in charge of picking the health care plan.”

Rowena paused. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, when Paul gets back, you tell him to call me immediately.”

“Call you immediately,” Sam repeated. “Good. Oh, hey, listen, since I have you on the phone, can I fire Dean?”

“No.” Rowena was adamant. “Please don't use my cell phone ever again.”

“Oh, this is your cell, I thought this was your…”

She hung up.

* * *

“Hey, hey, everybody, ice-cream sandwiches!” Paul laughed, back in the office. “Here you go. Take one, take one. It's all good. Ellen, think fast.” He tossed one at Ellen, who almost caught it.  “Oh, oh, I see Jess. Jess? Right? Waaaaah!” He pitched it at her like a baseball.

She ducked.

“Oh, hey, temp. Why don't you take two? Because you don't get health care. And uh, faster metabolism.” He handed two to Benny.

“Did you get the kind with the cookies? Instead of the-” Benny looked at the sandwiches in his hands.

“Why don't you just eat it, okay?” Paul sighed. “And here you go, Rufus the doofus.”

“Oh, thanks,” Rufus said, eyeing Paul. “This isn't the big surprise, is it? Because we've been having a pretty horrible day.”

Paul started. “Uh, nope. Nope. This isn't the surprise. It's surprising, um... because you didn't expect it. But you will... you'll know it when you see it.”

Sam banged on the door of his workspace. “Paul. Paul?”

“Oh, Christ,” Paul muttered under his breath.

* * *

Sam, in the conference room, was furious. “I tried being rational, okay? And what happened? The employees went crazy, I got no help from corporate. That leaves me with no options.”

* * *

Sam stood in front of the employees in the conference room. “I'm now going to read out loud your submitted medical conditions. When you hear yours read, please raise your hand to indicate that it is real. If you do not raise your hand, it will not be covered.”

Rufus grumbled from the back of the room. “What about confidentiality?”

“You know what?” Sam retorted. “You have forfeited that privilege. I have tried to treat you all as adults, but obviously I am the only adult here. Number one, inverted penis.”

There was a few minutes of silence before Pamela raised her hand. “Could you mean vagina? Because if you do, I want that covered.”

“I thought your vagina was removed during your hysterectomy?” Sam replied, face neutral.

“A uterus is different from a vagina,” Pam said slowly. “I still have a vagina.”

* * *

Sam made a mark on his clipboard. “Okay, great. Dermatitis. Thank you, Jess. I'll make sure that's covered.”

She lowered her hand slowly, obviously embarrassed.

“Okay, now. Who wrote this hysterical one? Anal fissures?” Sam spit.

“That's a real thing,” Gabe said.

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, but no one here has it.”

Gabe looked around furtively. “Someone has it.”

There was silence.

* * *

Later, Gabe shoved his hands into his pockets. “Do you think we should go?”

Kevin sighed. “I don't know, Gabe. This is important. I don't want…” He spotted Paul through the blinds. “There he is.”

“What is he doing?” Gabe asked, standing on his toes to see.

Kevin shook his head. “I don't know.”

* * *

Finally, Paul emerged.

Kevin was impatient. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Paul replied. “You could be referring to anything.”

“Okay.” Kevin blinked. “The health care plan.”

Cas spoke up, coat draped over his arms. “Why did you put Sam in charge of that? He did a horrible job.” Dean moved closer to him.

Paul turned to the Assistant (to the) Regional Manager. “Uh, Sam? Did you raise benefits?”

Sam scoffed. “I most certainly did not.”

Paul groaned, excessively loud. “Oh, come on! That's horrible! Ugh... Thanks, Sam, for a crappy plan. Ah, damn! Oh, I wish I had time to change it, but Rowena needs it by five, and... what time is it, what time is it?” He looked at his watch. “Ah, it's after five. Oh, it's awful. So, well, okay. See you guys on Monday.”

Jess piped up. “What about the surprise?”

“Oh…” Paul sighed. “Yes. Exactly. Thank you, Jess, for reminding me. Terrific. Um, before I tell everybody what the big surprise is, would you like to tell me what you think the big surprise is?”

“We all think you don't have a surprise,” Rufus grumbled.

“All right, I have some news for you. There is a big surprise. And... here it is. Here we go. And the big surprise is... Brrrrrrrr! Drum roll... Brrrrrrrr! Brrrrrrrr!” He started clapping.

* * *

Paul explained this in his office. “When I am backed into a corner, that is when I come alive. See, I learned improve from the greats, like, um, Drew Carey and Ryan Stiles. Robin Williams. Oh, man, would I love to go head-to-head with him. Oh! That would be exciting.” Then, as Robin Williams: “‘Hi. I'm Mork from Ork.’ Well, I'm Bork from Spork. Nanoo, nanoo. Jibelee, baloobaloo.”

* * *

Slowly, everyone began to leave. Gabe was the first, and Sam remained to tell Paul, “Oh, um... Rowena wants you to call her.”


	4. The Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With rumors of downsizing floating around the office, a nervous Sam approaches Dean about forming an alliance to protect their jobs.

Sam appeared right next to his boss as he made coffee in the kitchen. “Paul?”

Paul started. “Oh! God. Sam, come on…”

“I wanted to talk to you about the downsizing?”

“There's no downsizing.” Paul shook his head and poured a packet of Splenda into his mug.

“But if there were, I'd be protected as assistant regional manager?” Sam inquired.

“Assistant  _ to the _ regional manager, Sam,” Paul reminded him, walking away.

“Yeah, so I don't have to worry?” Sam followed him out of the kitchen, walking very quickly.

Paul turned around. “Look, look, look. I talked to corporate, about protecting the sales staff. And they said they couldn't guarantee it if there's downsizing, okay?” He turned back and continued walking towards his office. “But there's no downsizing, so just don't…”

“Bottom line. Do I need to be worried?” Sam asked briskly.

“Mmm, mm, mm,” Paul shook his head. “Maybe.” He dashed into his office.

* * *

In his office, Paul’s coffee sat, being ignored. “It looks like there's gonna be downsizing. And it's part of my job, but... blagh! I hate it. I think the main difference between me and Donald Trump is that I get no pleasure out of saying the words, ‘You're fired.’”

Then, as Donald Trump: “You're foir-ed. Ugh, you're foir-ed.” 

He went back to normal. “It just makes people sad, and an office can't function that way. No way. I think if I had a catchphrase it would be, ‘You're hired, and you can work here as long as you want.’ But that's unrealistic, so…”

* * *

Sam, in the conference room, looked somber. “It's a real shame, 'cause studies have shown that more information gets passed through water-cooler gossip than through official memos. Which puts me at a disadvantage, because I bring my own water to work.” He hefted a large water bottle above his head.

* * *

Rufus, standing near the water cooler near Sam’s desk with Gabe, asked: “Why'd you do this?”

“I didn't do it. What do you mean? Oh, the water cooler was brought over here for... maintenance.” Sam put his chin in his hand. “So, what do you guys hear? What's the scuttlebutt?”   


* * *

“Get set for Operation Morale Improvement, starring Paul Hortman,” Paul declared. “Now, I think I have had a little stroke of genius in that I have had my assistant, Cas... Smile, Cas.”

The camera switched to Cas, who gave a weak smile.  

“I have had him go out and find out whose birthday is coming up, so we can have a little celebration for it. Not bad, not bad at all.” Paul grinned. “All right. And the birthday person is... drum roll please. Here we go, who is the birthday, birthday person?” He started drumming on his desk. “Who is it? Who's the birthday?”

“Um…” Cas struggled to be heard over the banging. “Actually, we don't have any staff birthdays coming up.”

Paul did not stop drumming. “Next person on the calendar.”

“Okay,” Cas clutched his notebook tighter. “That would be Pam.”

“Yes!” Paul cheered. “All right, come on down, Pam!

Cas eyed his boss. “But it's not until next month.”

“Um... uh, OK. Well, great, well, you know, it'll be a surprise.” Paul clasped his hands.

“You still want to have a party?” Cas asked, carefully.

“Yeah, why not? Sure. Go ahead, live a little. Come on, Cas. Come on, shake it up. Shake it up! Shake it up!” He grabbed his cell phone off his desk. “Brrrp! Uh, Spock, are there any signs of life down there? Well, let me check, Captain. Eeee. Eeee. Eeee. Eeee.” Paul waved in front of Cas’ face. “No, Captain. No signs of life down here. Just a wet blanket named Cas. Brr-rrrp.”

Cas’ knuckled whitened around his notebook and he stared up at his boss.

“Star Trek,” Paul explained.   


* * *

In the conference room with Jess and Cas, the camera was pointed at Ellen. “Well, uh, for decorations, maybe we could... it's stupid, forget it,” Ellen said quietly.

“What?” Jess asked.

“I was just going to say, maybe we could have streamers, but that's dumb, everybody has streamers. Never mind.” Ellen looked down.

“No, yeah, I think that's a good idea,” Jess reassured her.

“Yeah?” Ellen asked.

“What color do you guys think?” Jess wondered.

“Well, there's green, um, blue... yellow... red…” Ellen trailed off. 

“How about green?” Cas asked.

“I think green is kind of whore-ish,” Jess demurred.

Ellen glanced down at her green shirt with embarrassment.

* * *

“This was tough,” Cas told the camera in the conference room. “I suggested we flip a coin. But Jess said she doesn't like to gamble. Of course by saying that, she was gambling that I wouldn't smack her.”   


* * *

Paul chose that moment to enter the room. “These are my party-planning beeyatches.”

Cas glanced at the camera, visibly irritated.

“Pulled off an amazing '80s party last year. Off the hook!” Paul continued. “So I was thinking, if you haven't already got a cake, um, maybe going for one of those ice-cream cakes from Baskin-Robbins. Those are very good. Very delicious.”

“Pam's allergic to dairy,” Jess pointed out.

“She's not the only one that's going to be eating it, right? I think everybody likes ice-cream cake. It's not, uh, it's not just about her, so…” Paul scoffed.

“It is... her birthday…” Cas trailed off.

“Mint chocolate chip!” Paul barked. Cas went back to the suggestion list. “That'd be good, how about some,  _ mint chocolate chip _ ?”   


* * *

Sam approached Dean where he stood at the copy machine. “Hey, so listen, I was thinking that it might be a good idea if you and I formed an alliance. 'Cause of the downsizing? I think an alliance might be a good idea, you know. Help each other out.” Sam squinted at Dean. “Do you want to form an alliance with me?”

“Absolutely, I do,” Dean whispered solemnly.

“Good, good. Excellent, okay. Now we need to figure out who's vulnerable and who's protected…”  
  


* * *

“At that moment, I was so happy,” Dean admitted to the camera in the conference room. “I mean, everything Sam does annoys me.”

* * *

At their desk clump, Sam asked, “Did you get your tickets?”

Dean knit his eyebrows. “To what?”

“The gun show.” Sam rolled up his sleeve and kissed his bicep, breathing very loudly and staring at Dean.   


* * *

“And I spend hours thinking of ways to get back at him, but only in ways that could get me arrested,” Dean continued back in the conference room. “And then here he comes and he says, ‘No, Dean, here's a way.’”

* * *

“There's one other thing, and this is important,” Sam said in low tones. “Let's keep this alliance totally a secret. Don't tell anyone.”   


* * *

Dean ignored this, of course.

“An alliance?” Cas asked, laughing.

“Oh, yeah.” Dean smiled down at him and popped an M&M into his mouth.

“What does that even mean?” Cas asked incredulously.

“I think it has something to do with Survivor, but I'm not sure,” Dean explained. “I know that it involves spying on people and we may build a fort, underground.”

Sam walked up to them very quickly. “Dean! Hey. Hi, Cas. Listen, could I talk to you a second about the... paper products?”  
  


* * *

Sam yanked Dean aside. “Did you tell Cas about the alliance?”

“What? No,” Dean denied.

“Just now.”

“What? Oh, no, no, no. Sam, no. I'm using him, for the alliance. Who knows the most information about this office? Cas.” Dean glanced over at him. He was answering the phone.

“Right, that's good, good, pursue this,” Sam interrupted.

Dean turned his attention back to the alliance. “Well, I'm trying to. Do you see what I'm doing?”

Sam nodded. “Mmm hmm.”

“But listen, I'm going to have to talk to him a lot. All right? And there may be chatting, and giggling. And you gotta just pretend to ignore it. Wipe it away.” Dean crossed his arms.

Sam jerked his head. “Done.”

“All right.” Dean glanced at the camera.   


* * *

“Can you get her?” Paul asked the camera. “She's right there.” The camera zoomed in on Pam at her desk.

“That is Pam, the birthday girl. And this... is Pam's card. Happy Bird-Day.” He presented a card and laughed. “Um, let's see. Dean- Dean wrote, ‘Pam, I heard you're turning 46, but, come on, you're an accountant. Just fudge the numbers.’ Not bad, pretty funny, I don't appreciate condoning corporate fraud though.” 

He walked back into his office. “Uh, here's the thing. Whatever I write here has to be really, really funny. Because people out there are expecting it. I've already set the bar really high. And they're all worried about their jobs, you know. It's kinda dark out there. Can you imagine if I wrote something like, uh, ‘Oh, Pam. Happy Birthday. You're great. Love, Paul.’” He pretended to vomit.   


* * *

“They seem awfully chummy, don't you think?” Sam wondered aloud to Dean as they spied on Chuck and Gabe in the kitchen.

“Yeah, what do you think that's about?” Dean asked, feigning seriousness.

Sam set his jaw. “Only one way to find out.”

“I'm on it.” Dean opened the door.   


* * *

“You are not going to believe this,” Dean told Sam later.

“What?” Sam asked, excited. “I believe it.”

“Well, tensions were high in the kitchen.” Dean shrugged.

Sam nodded. “I could tell, from the body language.”   


* * *

Dean stood by Gabe’s seat awkwardly. “Hey, Gabe, that looks good. What is it? Turkey?

“Italian,” Gabe corrected.

“Oh, Italian. Nice. You got the works there. Red onion, provolone…” Dean trailed off.

“Yeah,” Gabe said.

* * *

Dean crossed his arms and leaned closer to Sam as they got into their cars. “Chuck and Gabe, they're trying to get Jess kicked off.”

“Good, let 'em. It helps our cause.” Sam shrugged.

“Well, I don't know, if Gabe's in accounting, and Chuck's in Human Resources and they're talking…” Dean waited for the realization.

“Oh, they're forming an alliance!” Sam yelled.   


* * *

“I love their sandwiches,” Chuck admitted.

“I love their sandwiches too,” Dean said.

“Their bread's really good.” Gabe nodded.

“Their bread is very good,” Dean agreed.   


* * *

“Damn it. God!” Sam shouted, slamming his hands on the hood of his car.

“Okay, listen, we need to assume that everyone in the office is forming an alliance and is therefore trying to get us kicked off,” Dean instructed.

Sam ignored this. “Goddamn it! Why us?”

Dean gripped Sam’s shoulders. “Because we're strong, Sam. Because we're strong.”

* * *

“Pa, Pam...Pamel... Pam had a little lamb. Pam... Pam had a little lamb. Don't bring that lamb to work or it'll poop on the floor.” Paul flopped the card back and forth.

Kevin knocked on the door.

“Hey, Kevin! Come on in. What's up?” Paul stuffed the card into his desk.

“Uh, I'm sorry to bother you,” Kevin said politely.

“Oh, not at all. Come on in. What's going on?” Paul sat back.

Kevin hovered awkwardly by the door. “My nephew is involved with, um, a charity for cerebral palsy, and I was wondering if maybe you'd like to... you know... if…”

“What?”

“Donate to the charity?” Kevin finished.

“Oh, God. Of course I would. Get it over here.” Paul waved him over. “Get that over here.”

“Thank you,” said Kevin, handing the the clipboard to his boss.

“No, I'm always good... for some serious buckage. Wow. Two dollars, three dollars? People out here do not care about diseases. I am going to give you... $25.” Paul scribbled on the clipboard.

“That's... that's... that's very generous,” Kevin stammered.

“Oh, my gosh, well... Listen, Kevin, generosity and togetherness and community all convalescences into... morale. That's what I say, so…” Paul finished and handed the clipboard back over.

* * *

Cas walked over to Dean’s desk. “Hey, Dean, can I talk to you for a second?” he whispered.

“Sure, what's up?” Dean asked, swiveling around to face him.

“Um, I don't know, I'm just like, I'm going a little crazy 'cause I keep overhearing all these conversations between Paul and corporate about, like, staff issues?” Cas motioned with his hands.

“Oh, no?”

“Yeah, he's making me take notes on these meetings and I'm, like, ‘These people are my friends.’ But he's all like, ‘This is confidential. You can't tell anybody.’ But I just feel like I want to…” Cas made a faux gagging noise. “Just promise me you're not gonna say anything.”

“No, will not, I'm not going to tell anybody. This is between you and me.” Dean grinned.

“Okay, yeah.” Cas walked away.

“Jackpot,” Sam whispered.

* * *

“That was beautiful. All his idea too,” Dean told the camera in the conference room. “Awesome. He is so great.” His grin faded.

* * *

“Pam, damn. Damn, Pam,” Paul tried.

Sam walked in. “Hey, you wanted to see me?”

“Yeah.” Paul sat back. “What do you know about Pam?”

“I don't think she'd be missed,” Sam informed him.

“There's not going to be downsizing Sam, okay?” Paul groaned. “I just, I need to know a little bit more about my friend.”

“Name: Pamela Barnes,” Sam started to recite. “Uh, personal information: divorced twice, two kids. Uh, employer: Dunder Mifflin Paper Incorporated. Awards: multiple Dundies.”

“I know all that. I know all that,” Paul sighed. “I just, I need something kind of embarrassing, you know. Kind of fun, inside.”

“She had a hysterectomy,” Sam said matter of factly.

Paul laughed. “Which one is that again?”

“That's where they remove the uterus.”

“Oh, God!” Paul retched. “Sam, no. I'm trying to write something funny. What am I going to do with a removed uterus?”

“It could be kind of funny.”

“You know what, I am on a deadline here, and just… okay. Thanks, thanks for your help. I'll work it out. Thank you, Sam.”

Sam left.

“That was a waste of time.”

* * *

Dean pulled Sam to the side in the hallway. “Okay, here's the deal. Cas says that one of the alliances is meeting in the warehouse during Pam's birthday.”

“Oh, my God, we have to be there,” Sam exclaimed.

“I know,” Dean agreed. “But it's gonna be a little tough because there's no good place to hide there.”

“No, no, yes there is,” Sam corrected, eyes flashing with excitement. “Behind the shelves.”

Dean gave Sam a high five. “Great.”

* * *

“I'm a deer hunter,” Sam told the camera in the conference room. “I go all the time with my dad. One thing about deer, they have very good vision. One thing about me, I am better at hiding than they are…” He paused.

“...at vision.”

* * *

“This is going to be perfect, okay?” Sam said, squeezing into the massive paper box in the warehouse. “Centrally located. Perfect cover. I can hear and see everything.”

“Good,” said Dean.

* * *

“Paul? Are you done yet?” Benny knocked on Paul’s door.

“Almost there. Just a sec. Just a second. It is perfect, thank you. Excellent, here we go. It is time, thank you.” Paul got up and began to rouse the rest of the employees. “Okay, come on. Let's go! Get the cake. Here we go. Come on! Shhh. Be quiet.”

* * *

Dean paused. “Wait, this isn't gonna work. The lid's open.”

“So tape it down,” Sam suggested, peeking out of the box.

“I can't do that,” Dean said, scandalized. “You won't be able to breathe.”

“Look, I can breathe just fine. But if it makes you feel better, I'll poke holes in the box.” Sam shrunk back into the box.

Dean nodded. “Thank you, thank you. Okay.”   


* * *

As Pam walked in, everybody called, “Surprise!”

Pam assuming she had forgotten about a surprise birthday party for someone else, said, “Oh! Surprise.”

“No, it's, uh…” Jess corrected.

“It's surprise, Pam. One, two…” Paul instructed.

“Happy birthday to you,” the employees sang tunelessly.

“Find a key,” Paul bit.

Everyone started again. “Happy birthday…”

* * *

“So do you want me to stay here and, you know, stand next to the box?” Dean asked.

“No, you need to go upstairs to the party so people don't notice we're both gone,” Sam said, voice muffled by the box.

“Right…” Dean nodded. “That's good.”

* * *

Sam’s head poked out of the box. “Can I trust Dean? I don't know. Do I have a choice? No, frankly, I don't. Will I trust Dean? Yes. Should I trust Dean?” Sam paused. “You tell me.”

From upstairs, everyone sang, “... birthday, dear Pam, Happy birthday to you…”

“And many more!” Paul bellowed.

* * *

“You were surprised, weren't you?” Paul asked Pam.

“Yes,” she said.

Paul laughed. “You looked freaked, man. We said, ‘Surprise.’ You were, like, ‘What?’ ‘What the hell's goin' on here?’ Good cake. Why don't you have some?”

“Uh, I can't.” Pam shook her head. “Um…”

“Come on,” Paul urged. “A little bit.”

Pam eyed him. “I can't eat dairy.”

“Oh, right,” Paul remembered. “God, too bad. It's so good.”

“Yeah, it makes me sick.” Pam glanced at the camera.

“You know what? If I were allergic to dairy, I think I'd kill myself. 'Cause this is way, way too good.” Paul ate a forkful of ice cream cake.

The camera zoomed in on Pam’s face.   


* * *

“He's in a box?” Cas laughed.

“Cas, he's in a  _ box _ ,” Dean nodded, laughing. “He's downstairs, in a box, on the floor, near the shelves. I'm serious. Go down there and work your magic.”

* * *

Cas paced in front of Sam’s box “Hey, where are you?” he asked his phone. “Yeah, we were supposed to meet here. What? Oh my gosh! That ties in perfectly with something that Paul was telling me earlier! I just don't know what some of the people in, like, accounting are going to do? It said specifically that…”

Sam was so excited that he knocked his box over. “Oh.”

* * *

“Dean, good party, huh?” Paul asked, grinning. “Just a little something I whipped up. You know, a little morale boost. No big deal.”

Dean nodded. “Speaking of which, I meant to tell you. Very impressive, the donation you gave to Kevin's charity. What was it? 25 bucks?”

Paul shook his head. “Well, you know, money isn't everything Dean. It's not the key to happiness. You know what is? Joy. You should remember that. Maybe you'll give more than three dollars next time.”

“Yeah, well, three dollars a mile,” Dean corrected. “It's gonna end up being like 50 bucks. So... God, I can't even calculate what you're gonna have to give.”

Paul paused. “Is Kevin around?”

* * *

Paul clasped his hands on his desk. “I just thought it was kind of a flat, you know... 25 dollar, one-time donation. I didn't think it was per mile kinda deal, you know, so…”

Kevin was incredulous. “Well, that's what a walk-a-thon is.”

“I know…” Paul sighed.

“It says it right on the sheet. Look, look at the sheet.” Kevin thrust it at his boss. “It says, ‘However many dollars per mile.’”

“Right. Got it. Yes. So it does. Um…” Paul’s eyes darted over to the camera.

“I just think it's kind of cheap to un-donate money to a charity.” Kevin’s tone was final.

“No, no, no, no, no. That wasn't what I wasn't, that wasn't... No. It-it-it's not about the money. It's just... it... it's the ethics of the thing, Kevin. How's your nephew? Is he in good shape?”

Kevin nodded. “Yeah.”

“How many miles did he do last year?” Paul asked.

“Last year, he walked eighteen miles,” Kevin said.

“Son of a bitch.” Paul looked down. “That is impressive.”   


* * *

Cas smiled sweetly. “Happy Birthday.” He gave Pam her card.

“Read it out loud,” Paul ordered. “And say who wrote everything so we know whose is the best.”

“‘Happy Bird-day,’” Pam chuckled. “Um… ‘Pam, good news. You're not actually a year older because you work here, where time stands still.’”

“I don't know about that,” Paul muttered.

“That was Rufus,” Pam explained. “‘Pam, happy birthday, you're the best. Love, Cas.’”

Paul pretended to vomit. “Huh! Thanks, downer.”

“This is from Paul,” Pam said carefully. “‘Pam, let's hope the only downsizing that happens to you is that someone downsizes your age.’” This was met with silence.

“Because of the downsizing. Rumors,” Paul explained. “And because you're gettin' old.”

“No, I... I get it. It's funny,” Pam said, not laughing.

Paul laughed. “You didn't get the joke. Actually... I have a bunch of good ones that I didn't use.” He pulled out a sheet of paper. “Oh, okay, here's a good one. ‘Hey Pam, Liz Taylor called, she wants her age back and her divorces back.’ 'Cause Pam's been divorced like, twice. Is that right?”

“You're right,” Pam confirmed.

“Okay, ‘Pam is so old…’” Paul began.

Kevin sighed. “How old is she?”

“Everybody? If... could do it? ‘Pam is so old…’” Paul instructed.

“How old is she?” everyone answered tiredly.

“‘She's so old, she went into an antique store and they kept her.’” In response to everyone’s stares and silence, he said: “That wasn't even mine. I got that off the Internet. Website. Um, don't get mad at me.”

“Uh, nice party, Paul,” said Kevin sarcastically.

“This isn't my fault.” He glanced at Jess, Ellen, and Cas. “PPC, not your best effort. The streamers? I think we could have done better than that.”

“Ellen wanted red, I didn't,” said Jess quickly.

“Oh, boy... You…” Ellen glared at her.

Paul held his hands up for silence. “People, hold on, hold on. I think we're losing sight of what is really important here. And that is that we are... a group of people... who work together.” He paused and sighed. “I was... I really wasn't gonna flaunt this. I have made a very sizable donation to Kevin's nephew's... walkathon. $25.”

“Per mile,” Kevin added.

Paul nodded. “Per mile, yes.”

* * *

“When I retire, I... don't want to just disappear to an island somewhere,” Paul told the camera. “I wanna be the guy who gives everything back. A check for the kids, and for the team. I want it to be like… ‘Hey, who donated that hospital wing that is saving so many lives?’ ‘Um, well, I don't know. It was anonymous.’ ‘Well, guess what, that was Paul Hortman,’” he whispered. “‘But it was anonymous, how do you know?’ ‘Because I'm him.’”

Paul sat back, pleased.    


* * *

Kevin took the check. “Thank you, Paul.”

Paul nodded. “Come here.” He hugged Kevin and said in a low voice, “Don't cash that till Friday, okay?”

* * *

Chuck grinned. “Really? Today?”

Benny nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh, happy birthday.” Chuck took a sip of his drink.

Benny smiled. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, I could say something,” Chuck volunteered, gesturing towards the party.

Benny shook his head. “No, don't. Don't do that.”   


* * *

Dean leaned over Cas’ desk. “Okay, okay. I have something that totally tops the box.”

Cas put down his pen. “Oh, tell me, tell me.”

“Okay. I have just convinced Sam that he needs to go to Stamford and…”

Cas started laughing.

“...spy on our other branch. No, no, no. But before he does so, I told him that he should dye his hair to go undercover.”

“That's perfect!” Cas laughed.

Dean leaned closer. “If we can get him to drive to Connecticut... and put peroxide in his hair…”

“What the hell is this?” Michael yelled, storming in. “What are you doing, trying to cop a feel or something? Huh, Winchester?”

“No, no, dude, no,” Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender and backing away.

“Hey, hey!” Cas said when Michael reached for Dean.

“No, dude, no, I was just, listen! Whoa.” Dean shook his head.

Cas’ eyes went wide. “Come on.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “God, I don't even, I don't even know how to explain this. Uh, Sam asked me to be in an alliance. And then we were... we've just been messing with him. Uh, because of the whole alliance thing.”

“It's just office pranks,” Cas said.

“It's stupid. It's, it's just office pranks,” Dean echoed.

Michael looked at Sam, who was watching from behind the plant. “An alliance? What the hell is he talking about?”

Sam’s face went blank. “I have absolutely no idea.”

Michael took Cas’ arm. “Come on.”   


* * *

Sam told the camera in the conference room, with blonde hair: “Do I feel bad about betraying Dean? Not at all. That's the game. Convince him we're in an alliance, get some information, throw him to the wolves. That's politics, baby. Get what you can out of someone, then crush them. I think Dean might have learned a very valuable lesson.”

 


	5. Basketball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After planning a game between the office and warehouse workers, Paul picks his "dream team"- led by the company's sole black employee.

Paul approached Dean’s desk. “Hey, you ready?”

Dean nodded.

“All right, all right, secret sign. Hey, Benny.”

Benny held up his bag.

“Very good. Excellent, excellent.”

“Paul!” Sam called.

* * *

At his desk, Paul was explaining. “Today at lunchtime we're going to be playing the warehouse staff at a friendly little game of basketball. My idea. Last time I was down there, I noticed they'd put up a couple of hoops, and I play basketball every weekend. So I thought, ‘This might be kinda fun.’ And so I started messing around and... I'm sinking a few, you know. Swish, swish, swish. Nothing but net. And their jaws just dropped to the floor. African-Americans! So... you know, it's really just a good friendly game, a reason to get together.”

* * *

Paul banged his fist on Cas’ desk. Cas looked up at him nervously. “Cas, Cas, thank you, lass. Messages, please. Thank you.”

Sam approached them, adjusting his glasses. “Paul, can I talk to you, please? Privately? In your office?”

* * *

“I think I should be on the team.”

Paul shook his head. “No. And that's not me being mean, Sam. That is based on your past behavior.”

Sam expression softened. “Oh, please.”

Paul turned to the camera. “When I let him come to my pick-up game…”

“I apologized for that,” Sam interrupted.

“I vouched for you,” Paul told Sam.

“Paul, I…” Sam began.

Paul shook his head. “I vouched for you in front of _Gordon_ _Walker_ , Sam.”

Sam reached for a toy on Paul’s desk, which played a jingle and then shut off when Paul grabbed it.

“All right, here's what I'm going to do. The hand strikes and gives a flower. You are not going to play basketball. But I need somebody to come in and take over the holiday and weekend work calendar.”

Sam nodded briskly. “I can handle that.”

“Good. Excellent, it'll be fun. Because corporate, uh, wants someone to be here on Saturday. And so we're going to have to have some people come in on the weekend, and I know nobody's gonna want to do it and I know everybody's gonna complain and bitch and I don't want to have to deal with that.” Paul gave the camera a smile.

“And that's why you have an assistant regional manager,” Sam explained proudly.

“Yes, it is,” Paul agreed. “Assistant to the regional manager.”

“Same thing,” Sam told the camera.

“No, it's not. It's lower, so…” Paul shook his head and accepted a list of tasks from Cas.

“It's close,” Sam insisted.

* * *

Sam, sitting at his desk, glanced at a pad of paper in his hand and then looked up. “So we need someone to work this Saturday and I think that, that should be…” He pretended to look around for something and then settled on his deskmate. “Dean.”

Dean shook his head. “God, this is so sad. This is the smallest amount of power I've ever seen go to someone's head. Ellen, can you believe this?”

Ellen didn’t turn around. “Keep me out of it.”

* * *

In a talking head, Cas began, “My fiance has plans for us this Saturday. So I really hope that Sam doesn't make me work.” Alighted mischief came to his eyes. “Maybe I should sleep with him? I'm kidding, kidding.” He bit his lip. “Totally kidding.”

* * *

Paul descended the stairs to the warehouse, Benny in tow. “All right, managing by walking around. This is our warehouse. Or, as I like to call it, the whorehouse. But don't you call it that, I've earned the right.”

Benny glanced at the camera, smiling. “Fine, don't worry about that.”

Paul approached one of the employees. “And here we have Mister Roger's Neighborhood.’ Come on over here.”

The man approached reluctantly.

“Hey, this is Benny. He's temping upstairs.”

Benny nodded at him. “What's up?”

Paul turned to Benny. “And this is the foreman. Mista Ra-jahs.”

“It's not my real name,” Victor told Benny.“No, it's Victor.” Paul nodded. “Victor is Mista Ra-jahs.”

Benny knit his eyebrows. “Victor Rogers?”

Victor sighed. “Victor Philbin. Then Regis, then Rege, then Roger, then Mister Rogers.”

Paul laughed. “And that is Lonny. And this is Michael. Michael dates Cas. You know, the uh, the best looking one upstairs.”

Benny seemed to remember Cas. “Yeah, yeah.”

Paul turned to Michael. “You still getting it regular man? Huh? I mean, I can tell him it's part of the job! Rapport!”

* * *

Cas, who was on the phone, looked worried and irritated. “No, no, I know that the warranty's expired, but isn't it supposed to last longer than two years if it isn't defective? OK, fine, three years.”

* * *

Dean shrugged at the camera in the conference room. “Cas gets a little down. His toaster oven broke. Um, which he got at his engagement shower, Um, for a wedding that still has yet to be set... and that was three years ago,” he said, nodding throughout. Dean clicked his tongue, feigning boredom.

* * *

Paul nodded at Victor. “So, um, one o'clock sharp and we've got a game on.”

Victor kept his expression neutral. “We're loading at one.”

Paul laughed awkwardly, the sound echoing around the massive, quiet room. “Oh, I see, you're chickening out on me. You're bailing on me.”

“No, we got a truck going out at 1:15,”  So, that's the busy time.

Paul made a mocking face. "Oh, well, I'm glad that some time is a busy time because whenever I'm down here it doesn't seem too busy to me. Oh, oh. You can dish it out, but you can't take it. Okay, fine, have it your way.” He then began clucking and dancing like a chicken.

Victor eyed him. “All right, fine, you know what? One o'clock.”

Paul stopped and nodded knowingly. “All right, see you at one.”

* * *

 

“Are we ready for the game?” Paul asked, standing outside of his office.

“Yeah,” said everybody halfheartedly.

Paul shook his head. “I... yeah, yeah. I know, grumble, grumble. But you would follow me to the ends of the earth, grumbling all the way. Like that, uh, dwarf from Lord of the Rings.”

“Gimli,” Sam offered immediately.

“Nerd,” Paul informed him. “That is why you're not on the team.”

Sam shook his head and went back to his work. “Just trying to be helpful.”

Paul continued, this time in a nerdy voice. “Uh, ‘I'll help, Elwyn Dragonslayer, uh, ten points, power sword.’”

Dean laughed, not looking up. “That's him.”

“Okay, so, let's put together a starting line-up, shall we?” Paul suggested, looking around. “Rufus, of course.”

Rufus looked up. “I'm sorry?”

Paul nodded. “Um, what do you play? Center?”

Rufus ignored this. “Why ‘of course’?”

Paul stammered. “Uh…”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Rufus asked, irritated.

Paul shook his head. “Uh, I don't know. I don't remember saying that.”

Dean lifted a hand. “Uh, I heard it.”

“Well, people hear a lot of things, man.” Paul turned away. “Um... other starters... Me, of course. I heard it that time.”

“I'd like to play if it's just for fun,” Ellen suggested. “I played basketball in school.”

Paul ignored Ellen. “Um... Yeah. Who else? We have Dean. We have Benny, the new guy, right? Untested. Willing to prove himself now. A lot of passion, a lot of heart.”

Benny nodded. “But, I'm getting paid to skip lunch?”

“Yes,” Paul agreed.

Benny went back to his work. “Okay.”

“Yes, this is business. The, uh,” Paul struggled for words, “-business of team building and morale boosting. Uh, who else?”

“I can help out, if you need me,” Kevin offered.

“I will use your talents come tennis season, my friend. Or if we play cricket.” Paul shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I have a hoop in my driveway,” Gabe informed Paul.

“No.”

“I have a sports bra,” Ellen told him.

Paul shook his head. “No, no, ridiculous.”

“Paul, look.” Sam threw paper at the garbage can unsuccessfully. ‘Missed it…”

Paul sighed. “Close. All right, uh... Me, Rufus the doofus, Dean, Benny and Sam.”

Sam fist pumped. “Yes!”

“Sorry, Ellen,” Paul apologized.

“Can I be team captain?” Sam requested.

“No, I'm team captain,” Paul denied.

“Can I be team manager?”

“No, I am the team manager,” Paul declared. “You can be assistant to the team manager.”

Sam nodded. “Assistant team manager?”

“No.”

Sam looked down at his desk, as if to search for something. “Okay, we'll see who's working this weekend, then.”

“Dean, you're in charge of the vacation schedule now,” Paul said quickly.

“Oh, my God,” said Dean.

Paul pointed to the camera. “Threat neutralized.”

* * *

Paul hit Cas in the head with a piece of paper. “Off the backboard!”

Cas looked up, containing irritation. “Please don't throw garbage at me.”

Paul laughed. “Oh, Cas with a zinger. Hey, Cas, how would you, like to be our cheerleader today? You know, some, ah, pigtails? A little, ah, halter top, you could tie that up. And you know, something a little, just, youthful, for a change. Just this once?”

Cas blinked. “I don't think so, Paul. Besides, I can't cheer against my fiance.”

Dean swiveled in his chair. “I'll do it. Wear a little flouncey skirt if you want, and…”

Paul snorted. “Yeah, I bet you would. Just try not to be too gay on the court.” He realized what he said and backpedaled. “And by gay, I mean, um, you know, not in a homosexual way at all. I mean the uh, you know, like the bad-at-sports way. I think that goes without saying.”

Cas stared at him before going back to his work. “Maybe Jess would cheerlead.”

Paul shook his head. “Oh, yeah, right.”

“I'll do it,” Ellen offered.

“Oh, yuck, that's worse than you playing,” Paul said reflexively before recovering quickly. ‘'Cause we need you as an alternate in case somebody gets hurt. That's where we need you. Blessed be those who sit and wait. You made it, suit up, you're on the team! All right, cool! Very good.”

* * *

Paul watched Victor enter the office. “Oh, a spy from the warehouse. Trying to figure out our plays, huh, man?”

Victor shook his head. “Just getting a tea bag.”

Paul watched him walk away, laughing. “Oh ho, oh, he's running. He's running. He's running, but he can't hide because you know what? One o'clock, you better bring your 'A' game. Because me, and my, posse guys are gonna be in your face. Right in your face!”

Victor paused. “Why don't we make it more interesting? Loser buys dinner at Farley's.”

“Whoa-ho. I like the way you think,” Paul told him. “You know what, I'm gonna take that one step further. Loser, works, on Saturday.”

“No, that's not as much fun,” Victor said, before seeing the look on Paul’s face. “You know what?”

“What?” Paul asked tauntingly.

Victor tilted his chin up. “You're on.”

Paul nodded. “Okay. Cool, you're on.” Then, to Sam, who had come up to him and begun to do the chicken dance: “Don't screw this up.”

* * *

In the warehouse, Paul told the camera as he watched the warehouse workers eating lunch, “Classic beginner's mistake, eating before a game.”

* * *

“Has anyone seen the first-aid kit?” Jess called. Sam held the kit up. “How many times have I told you? I'm the safety officer, not you.”

* * *

Dean, in a talking head, said, “Basketball? It was kind of my thing in high school. And I'm, yeah, I'm looking forward to playing. You know, I think I'm gonna impress a few people in here.” He sat back, clearly imagining.

* * *

Dean stopped by Cas’ desk. “You coming down?”

Cas nodded. “Yeah, I'm just forwarding the phones.”

“You gonna wish me luck?” Dean asked.

Cas scoffed. “Yeah, you're gonna need it.”

Dean held his hands up. “Whoa. Is that trash talk from Cas?”

Cas laughed. “I'm just saying, Michael is very competitive.”

Some of the light in Dean’s eyes dimmed. “Oh.”

Cas continued. “And he wants to take the WaveRunners to the lake this Saturday, so…”

Dean recovered. “Well, I'm going to the outlet mall on Saturday, so if you wanna save big on brand names and Michael has to work, which he will, because I'm also competitive, you should feel free to come along.”

Cas pretended to be thinking hard. “Um, I think I'm gonna be up at the lake.”

Dean nodded. “I think I'll see you at the mall. Yeah.”

Cas started laughing again.

* * *

Paul was standing alone in the warehouse when Rufus began to descend the stairs. “Hey, there he is! Secret weapon!” This was met with a death glare.

Michael approached, then, and walked over to Cas. They began kissing, and Dean looked away, fighting to keep his face clear of emotion.

* * *

“All right, guys, come on, let's bring it in!” Paul called. The employees formed a circle around him. “Here we go! Okay, listen, this is just going to be a friendly game, right? We are all on the same team here, the Dunder Mifflin team.” He nodded at the warehouse workers. “Of course, if you beat us, you're fired. That's a joke.” He laughed, as no one else did. “Okay, let's do it.”

Dean turned to his right and shook Michael’s hand. “Have a good game, man.”

Michael nodded without smiling. “Yeah, you too. Should be fun.”

Paul called, “All right, everybody stretch out a little bit. Stretch it. Full stretch. Benny, you wanna stretch?”

Benny put his hands on his hips. “I stretched before I came.”

* * *

Paul leaned forward and pointed at Benny. “Okay, Benny, you have Victor. I have Michael.”

Dean looked up. “Really? I thought I'd take Michael.”

Paul shook his head. “Actually, I think Michael is their best player, not Lonny. So, Sam, you uh, have the East German gal. Uh, who else we got…” He turned to look at the other team, who was not in a huddle. “Um...Okay, alright, you guys.” The group dispersed.

Sam took off his shirt, to which Jess seemed to be interested in. “Okay, we'll be skins!”

Paul seemed disgusted. “Aw, come on Sam.”

Sam spread his hands, vision partially obscured by a piece of plastic strapped across his face. “What? Shirts on or off?”

Paul refused to look at him. “On. Just put it on.”

Sam looked around. “You sure?”

“Yes. Uh, Cas?” Paul nodded towards his receptionist, who nodded slightly and approached, arms crossed. “You kind of have your foot in both camps, why don't you do the, uh, jump ball, okay?”

“Don't listen to him, Cas,” Michael said cockily. “Trust me, tip it my way or you're sleeping in the car.”

The camera zoomed in on Paul’s face, which seemed slightly horrified, before panning to Cas doing the jump ball.

Paul immediately passed it to who he thought was his secret weapon. “Rufus!”

Rufus began dribbling stiffly, left hand raised behind him.

“What? You gotta be kidding me!” Paul yelled.

Michael stole the ball. and went for a lay up.

“Oh... Here we go!” Paul shouted.

Lonny shot and made it.

“Who's on him? Somebody get him!” Paul pointed at Lonny.

Michael high fived Lonny. “That's what I'm talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Paul yelled, sounding like a machine gun. “Over here, over here!”

Dean saved the ball from going out of bounds and passed to Paul.

“Here we go. Three!” Paul shot and missed. “Let's go to the zone! We're going to zone!”

Sam clapped twice “De-fense!”

Paul joined in. “De-fense!” He also clapped twice. Paul and Sam continued like this for a bit.

Michael scored, to which another warehouse worker replied, “Well done, team.”

Paul pointed at him aggressively. “Who's got Michael?

* * *

Dean did a behind the back move around Michael and scored.

The camera zoomed in on a cheering Cas.

* * *

Paul missed a half court shot. “Aw, come on! What is wrong with me today?! Usually hit those.”

Sam scored on a pass from Benny.

“Sam, I was open. All right, let's go.” Paul clapped.

* * *

Michael bumped Paul to get around him, to which Paul said admonishingly, “Okay, foul. Charging. Charging. That's a foul.”

Michael stared for a moment before holding his hands up, placating. “Okay.”

“Okay, I'll take it.” Paul stood, dribbling very slowly, before shooting. The ball cleared the entire backboard. Paul began clapping. “Okay.”

* * *

In a talking head, Paul was reflecting. “When I am playing hoops, all of the stress and responsibility of my job here just melts away. It's gone, I'm in the zone.”

* * *

Paul missed another shot. “What is wrong with me today?!” he shouted.

* * *

“Who am I? Am I Paul Hortman?” he continued in his office. “I don't know... I might just be a basketball machine. What's Dunder Mifflin? I've never heard of it. Filing? Paperwork? Who cares? Possible downsizing? Um... well, that's probably gonna happen, actually.

* * *

Paul started yelling. “Dean! Dean! Dean, right here, Dean! Give me the ball! Benny, cut!” Due to giving his teammates valuable advice, Paul looked away and missed Dean's pass.

Dean looked around, masking his irritation. “My bad.”

Victor scored and celebrated with Lonny. “Here we go. Here we go. Here we go.”

Lonny was dancing and replied, “Where you at? Where you at? You over there? I'm over there.”

Paul watched in fascination. “That is cool. Is that like the Robot?”

* * *

Benny scored on a free throw.

“Nice! Come here!” Paul gave Benny a chest bump.

Benny stepped back a little. “Can we just do one? That's cool, that's fine.”

Paul mimicked Victor and Lonny’s dance.

* * *

Madge tried to reach around Sam, who was bent over the ball so she couldn’t touch it. “Hey! Come on, man!”

Paul approached, in manager mode. “Hey, Sam. Sam!”

Sam scored. “Yeah!” He pointed to Madge. “In your face!”

Madge rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like that counts.”

Paul held him away from Madge. “You know what? Sam, Sam…”

* * *

Paul told the camera in his office: “Football is like rock and roll, it's just bam-bam-boo... And basketball is like jazz, you know? You're kind of... Dupee-doo, dupee-do. It's all downbeat, it's in the pocket, it's like…” He started singing. “Dupee-do, dupee-do, dapee-dah…”

* * *

Paul continued singing, back on the court. “Du-du-du-du-dupee-do, de-do-do-do. Du-du-du-du-dupee-do, de-do-do-do.” He got down on one knee and back up again, dribbling. “Harlem Globetrotter…”

Michael stole the ball and scored. “Your ball.”

“All right, time, time out. Come on, sales, over here.” Paul seemed agitated. “Bring it in! Come on!”

Paul scolded his team. “What's going on? What's going on? You're playing like a bunch of girls.”

Dean rose from his position of his hands braced on his knees. “You know what? Let me take Michael.”

Paul nodded. “All right, switch. Take it up a notch, come on.”

Dean scored and ran past Cas, who eyed him, smiling.

* * *

“Shoot, shoot it!” Paul yelled.Michael hit Dean in the mouth with his elbow while the latter was guarding him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Foul! Naked aggression! Oh, that is…” Dean cupped his hand under his mouth. Cas watched, wide eyed. “You alright, Dean? Suck it up.”

* * *

“He's afraid of you now,” Madge told Michael as Dean looked to shoot.

Dean pushed Michael away and scored, to which Paul yelled, “Ouch! Oh, how much does it hurt? How much does it hurt?”

Cas smiled from the sidelines, eyes twinkling.

* * *

Dean pushed Michael to the ground and scored again.

Michael got up and glared at Dean. “What the hell, man?”

Dean didn’t look at him. “Take it easy.”

Michael shook his head. “No, you take it easy!”

* * *

Sam stole the ball from Benny, to which he replied gruffly, “Same team, Sam.”

Paul saw this and yelled, “Sam!”

Sam scored and fist pumped. “Yes!”

* * *

Ellen scored, to which Paul started thrusting his hips aggressively. “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! In, your, face! Jess, what's the score?”

Jess looked at her paper. “You're ahead.” Next to her, Cas watched Paul warily.

Paul clapped. “Yeah, baby, here we go!”

“Dean! Dean! Right here!” Paul ran into the elbow of the guy guarding him. “Ow! God! Hold it!”

“I'm sorry,” the man said.

Paul clutched his side. “Foul! Foul!”

“I'm sorry. You all right?”

“Oh, that hurts,” Paul moaned.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to do that.” The man held his hand out.

“What's your problem man? Gah, just clocking me for no reason?” Paul admonished.

“Take your shot man!” Victor called.

Paul shook his head. “No, no, no, no. That was a flagrant, personal, intentional foul. Right there.”

The worker was astonished. “No, it wasn't!”

“Yes, it was,” Paul mocked. “You know what, I'm just being fair.”

“Oh, really?” The man seemed irritated now. “No, I just put my arm up.”

Paul shook his head, calling for a time out. “Game over. Game over. That is it! I'm sorry, you know? I hate to do it this way but, you know, that's just... we're having a friendly game. It's a shame. This is a damn shame, but we're like a family here and that just, that won't fly.”

Jess approached. “This is a cold pack…”

Sam snatched it from her. “Here, give me that. You have to break the interior bag.” The bag exploded.

Paul sighed. “Thanks, Sam.”

Lonny interrupted. “Wait, what does that mean? What is it, a tie? What's going on?” The warehouse workers closed in around Paul in a circle.

Paul rubbed his chin. “Well, let's just say whoever was ahead won.”

Victor eyed him. “That was you.”

Paul looked at him, feigning surprise. “It was us? Really? I didn't, I didn't know. Great, I mean, I guess you guys are working Saturday.”

Michael shook his head. “No, no, no, I'm not coming in on Saturday.”

“Yeah, this isn't happening,” Victor told him.

Paul put his hands on his hips. “Um... well, you guys, you know, I'm the boss so…”

“So what's that?” Lonny asked, he and the rest of the guys practically on top of Paul. “We're coming in on Monday, right?”

Paul looked down. “Hey, hey…”

“Monday?” Lonny asked again.

Paul laughed. “You guys believed me? Come on. Dogs, you know, you should know me better than that. No, oh, do you think that would've been good for morale? No. No. No. Exactly, no. I'm embarrassed it was even that close though. So... nah, of course, we're coming in Saturday.” The camera zoomed in on Dean, who sighed and rolled his eyes, unsurprised. “Good game. Word.”

* * *

“...so I talked to the scout, it looks good,” Dean told Cas, slumped in the chair by reception.

Cas nodded, doing something on his computer. “Mmm-hmm.”

“I didn't sign anything,” Dean continued, watching Michael enter.

“Hey, baby,” Michael said, leaning over Cas’ desk.

Cas stood up. “Hey.”

“Look at Larry Bird. Larry Legend,” Michael instructed Dean.

“Yeah, he's, uh, pretty good, huh?” Cas said to Dean, smiling a little, standing next to his fiancé.  

The camera zoomed in on Dean’s face as they left- he had a robotic grin on his face, which soon melted away.

“Let's get you into a tub,” Cas decided, coat over his arm as they walked through the door.

Michael smiled. “Yeah? Let's get you into a tub.”

Dean stared at the floor sadly.

* * *

Paul came out of his office. “Hey, what a game, huh? What a game.”

Kevin, standing by Sam’s desk, asked, “What time do we have to come in?”

Paul shook his head. "Come on. Let's not be gloomy here man. We're all in this together. We're a team.” The camera zoomed in on various employees, all looking irritated. “You know what? Screw corporate, nobody's coming in tomorrow. You have the day off. Like coming in an extra day is gonna prevent us from being downsized. Have a good weekend.” He retreated back into his office.

* * *

“The great thing about sports is that it is all about character,” Paul informed the camera in his office. “And you can learn lessons about life even if you don't win. But we did, because we were ahead.”

 

 


	6. Hot Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an attractive woman shows up on the premises to sell handbags, Paul sees an opportunity for a red-hot office romance.

“Are you listening to me, Paul?” came Rowena’s voice through the phone.   


“Affirmative,” Paul said quickly.   


Rowena paused. “What did I just say?”   


“You just said, let me uh... check my notes.” Paul shuffled through some papers on his desk. “You just said…”    


“Alan and I have created an incentive program to increase sales,” Rowena repeated.   


Paul ignored this. “Hey, hey how is Alan? Tell Alan that the Mets suck! Okay? From me, big time. Go Pirates!”    


“I'm not going to do that, Paul,” Rowena said, her irritation clear even over the phone.   


Paul conceded. “Okay.”   


“We've created an incentive program to increase sales,” Rowena repeated again.   


Paul nodded. “Uh, huh.”    


“At the end of the month you can reward your top seller with a prize worth up to a thousand dollars,” Rowena continued.    


Paul blew air. “Whoa. Howdy-ho. Wow, a thousand big ones. That's cool. Do I, uh, do I get to pick the prize?”    


Rowena paused. “Uh, yes. Yes, you can,” she said, emotionlessly.   


“Um, question: Does top salesman include uh, people who were at one time such outstanding salesman that've been promoted to…” Paul began.   


“No, Paul. No. You can't win this prize,” Rowena interrupted.   


Paul scoffed and paused. “I didn't mean me!” 

* * *

Paul leaned forward at his desk. “Well, first what we have to do is find out what motivates people more than anything else.” 

“Sex,” replied Sam quickly, standing behind Paul’s chair.   


“It's illegal. Can't do that. Next best thing.”   


“Torture,” Sam fired off.   


Paul groaned. “Ugh, come on, Sam. Just help me out here. That's just stupid.”    


Cas knocked on the door. “Uh, Paul?”    


Paul looked up. “Cas!”    


Cas paused. “There's a…”   


“Burger with cheese! “   


Cas swallowed. “There's a person here…”   


“And fries!”    


“There's…”   


“And shake!” Paul laughed. “What? Go ahead.”    


Cas took a deep breath. “There's a person here who wants to sell handbags.”    


Paul shook his head. “No, no, no. No vendors in the office. That is a distraction.”    


“Okay, I told her you'd talk to her,” Cas said.   


“Cas. Cas. Come on, I'm busy.” He waved pieces of paper. “So just tell her to go away.”    


Cas nodded. “Okay.”    


Paul sighed, looked out the window, and saw Anna. “Oooh, alright I'll talk to her.” 

* * *

Anna handed Cas a purse. “This one is hand embroidered.” 

Paul and Sam approached. “All right, ladies, break it up, you're being infiltrated. Cock in the henhouse.”

“Cocks in the henhouse,” Sam copied.   


Paul shook his head. “Don't say cocks.” Then he turned to the red haired woman standing by the desk. “Oh, what is your name, my fair lass?”    


She shook his hand. “Anna.”    


“Ah, Anna. Wow. Look at you.” The camera zoomed in on her face. “You are, uh you're like the new and improved Cas. Cas 6.0.”    


Cas looked, embarrassed, at Paul. “She's a… a woman…” Anna looked sympathetically at Cas.   


“Oh, look. Oh, hey, no catfights you two. I'm against violence in the workplace.” Paul pointed at the two.    


“So am I,” Sam piped up.    


Paul scratched his head. “Nobody cares what you think.”    


“Doesn't matter,” Sam deferred.    


“So, uh, you know what? I usually don't allow solicitors in the office, but today I am going to break some rules, and you can have the conference  room.” Paul nodded at Anna. “It's yours. All day.    


Anna smiled gratefully. “Wow, thanks.”    


The camera zoomed in on Cas, who seemed unamused, eyes tired. “There's an HR meeting in there at 11:30.”    


“Well, let’s put 'em in the hallway. Give 'em some chairs. Right?” Anna avoided eye contact with Paul, as Sam smiled at them unwaveringly. “Decisiveness. One of the keys to success, according to Small Businessman.” 

* * *

“I do. I read Small Business man,” Paul was telling the camera in his office. “I also, uh, subscribe to USA Today and American Way Magazine, that's the in-flight magazine. Some great articles in that. They did this great profile last month of Doris Roberts and where she likes to eat when she's in Phoenix. Illuminating.” He said this all with a straight face.

* * *

“This is my conference room. So please, uh, make yourself at home.” Paul nodded.

Sam watched from the hallway. 

“Whatever you need, I'm right on the other side of this wall.” Paul knocked on the wall. “Used to be a window here. There's not anymore. So, that's where I will be.”    


Anna began to unpack her handbags.   


“So if you need anything else, something to make you more comfortable, just don't hesitate to ask. I'm right here.” Paul clasped his hands.    


Anna straightened and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I guess a cup of coffee would be great.”    


Paul started laughing and clapped, coming very close to her. “Wait a second. I should have spotted another addict. Uh, gotta love the 'bucks.”    


Anna seemed creeped out. “What?”    


“It's like a slang for Starbucks. They're all over the place,” Paul explained. “Oh, man, that place is like the promised land to me. What a business model too. Ah, too bad we don't have the good stuff here.    


Anna smiled politely. “Regular coffee is fine.”    


Paul shook his head. “Nah, it's not. It's spppplllibbb-”   


“No, really it is,” Anna insisted.   


“No, here's the thing,” Paul began. “Y'know I do my best to be my own man and go by the beat of a different drummer and nobody gets me, and they're always putting up walls and I'm always tearing 'em down, just breakin' down barriers, that's what I do all day. So a coffee, regular coffee for you. High test, or unleaded?”    


Anna smiled politely and said, “Bring it on.    


Paul exhaled. “Oh. Woo, I will. I will bring it on.” He laughed. “Ah, all right.”

* * *

“So are you jealous 'cause there's someone else who’s hot around?” Gabe asked, getting a fax from behind Cas’ desk.

Cas looked up, but not at Gabe. “No.”    


“She's cuter than you, though,” said Gabe, unblinking.    


Cas still didn’t look at him. “That's a very rude thing to say, Gabe.”    


Gabe nodded.   


* * *

Anna, in the conference room, asked a customer, “So do you like the periwinkle and the purples?”

* * *

“The purse girl hits everything on my checklist,” Sam informed the camera. “Creamy skin. Straight teeth. Curly hair. Amazing breasts. Not for me, for my children. The Wessons produce very thirsty babies.”

* * *

Paul handed Anna a mug of coffee. “There ya go. Nice steaming cup o'joe.”

Anna nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”   


Paul clasped his hands. “I have an idea. Why don't I introduce you around, you know you can kind of get your foot in the door, meet potential clientele, right?”    


Anna nodded and turned to look at the table full of handbags. “Gosh, I would love to but, my purses, I should, um…”   


“Oh, um, well, we could have Benny take a look.” Paul turned to the rest of the office. “Benny, would you look after the purses, please?”    


Benny looked up from Ellen’s desk. “I'm installing File Share on all the computers.”    


Paul scoffed. “Yeah, well, bladdy-bluda-blah-blah. Techno-babble. Just do it, okay. We have company.”

* * *

“It's nice having Anna around,” Cas admitted. “It's another person for Paul to, um…” He smiled, nodding slightly. “-interact with.”

* * *

Paul approached Chuck’s desk with Anna in tow. “Here is Chuck from Human Resources. Anna, Chuck.”

Anna shook his hand. “Hi.”

Chuck smiled, not getting up from his seat. “Hi, nice to meet you.” 

“Chuck, Anna,” Paul repeated. The other two ignored him.

Chuck pointed vaguely at Anna’s hand. “Hey, um, did you go to, uh, Bishop O'Hara?” 

Anna nodded, smiling a little. “Yeah.” 

Chuck grinned. “Yeah, me too.” 

Anna held her hand out so they could see her ring. “Cool. What year were you there?”

“Eighty-nine,” Chuck said.

“Chuck's divorced,” Paul said quickly. “He, uh, guh, recently, right?”

Chuck swallowed. “Yeah.” 

Paul continued. “You and your wife, and you have kids.”

“A girl,” Chuck replied.

“Oh, that, so - that was really messy.” Paul turned to Chuck. “He slept one night in your car too?” 

Chuck looked resigned.

Anna looked uncomfortable. “I should probably get back to my table.”

Paul put his hands on his hips. “Okay. Alright. Cool. See ya in a bit.” He looked at a picture on Chuck's desk. “Oh, she's cute. Cutie-pie. Back to work.” 

* * *

“I live by one rule,” Paul was informing the camera later in his office. “No office romances. No way. Very messy. Inappropriate. No. But, I live by another rule: Just do it. Nike.” He grinned. 

* * *

Michael swallowed his bite of sandwich and said, “Hey, Winchester, what do you think of that purse girl, huh?”

Dean nodded, leaning over the table where he, Michael, and Cas were eating lunch. “Cute, sure, yeah.”

“Why don't you get on that?” Michael asked.

Dean shook his head. “She's not really my type.” 

Michael knit his brow. “What, are you gay?” 

Dean nodded, chewing, then swallowed. “Uh, yeah, little bit.”

Gabe: So then what is your type? 

Dean glanced at Cas. “Moms, primarily. Yep. Soccer moms. Single moms. NASCAR moms. Any type of moms, really.” 

Michael blinked. “That's disgusting.”

“Stay away from my mom,” Gabe requested, getting his lunch and leaving the room.

“Too late, Gabe.” Dean took a bite of his sandwich.

Anna walked through the kitchen, and Michael said, “Man, I would be all over that if I wasn't dating Cas.”

Cas looked up, blue eyes glassy. “We're not dating, we're engaged.”

Michael looked at him and nodded. “Engaged, yeah.”

Cas looked at him for a moment to see if he was serious, then rolled his eyes and got up and left the room.   


* * *

“Cas and I are good buddies,” Dean confessed to the camera in the conference room. “I'm sort of Cas' go-to guy for his problems. You know, with stuff like work, or uh, his fiance, Michael. Or, uh... Nope, those are pretty much his only two problems.”

* * *

“She'd be perfect for you,” Dean told Sam about Katy as they watched her rearrange her purses in from their desks.

Sam nodded, biting his knuckle. “Hmmm... she's been talking to Paul a lot.”

Dean scoffed. “So, what? You're Assistant Regional Manager.” 

“Assistant to the Regional Manager,” Sam reminded him.

“Well, you know what, Sam?” Dean shook his head. “He's your work boss, okay? He is not your relationship boss.”

“That's true,” Sam agreed immediately.

“Plus, you have so much more to talk to this girl about. You're both um,” Dean thought for a second. “-salesmen. I mean, that's something right there.”

“True.” Sam sat up straighter in his chair. “Plus, I can talk to her about the origins of my last name.”

Dean nodded. “It's all gold.” He smiled a little. 

* * *

“Guys are usually my best customers, they buy the high end stuff, like the beads and the sequins and stuff,” Anna told the camera as she rearranged her purses. “For gifts, you know? They don't know what they’re looking at. So I make suggestions.” She smiled.

* * *

Dean leaned over his desk towards Sam. “Alright. Here's the thing okay, you just keep talking to her. If you hit a stall, you have a perfect fall back.”

“What's that?” Sam asked.

Dean spread his hands. “You buy a purse.” 

“I don't want a purse. Purses are for girls,” Sam recited immediately.

Dean shook his head. “Sam, that's not necessarily true. Do you read GQ?”

Sam looked away. “No.”

“Okay, I do.” Dean twirled a pencil. “There are mini briefcases. Lots of guys have them.”

Sam made a face of disbelief and nodded towards the conference room. “Like those?”

Dean nodded. “Yes. Listen, you are spending way too much time talking to me, when you could be talking to her.”

Sam stood up. “Okay, I'm just going to use the bathroom, and then I'm going…”

Dean shook his head. “No. You don't need the bathroom. You've got it. Go.” As soon as Sam made his way to the conference room, Dean turned and walked to Cas’ desk.

* * *

Dean hung up Cas’ phone. “Okay, stop... stop whatever you're doing because this is going to be good.” He stood behind Cas’ chair and leaned forward.

Cas smiled, looking at Sam and Anna in the conference room.

Dean started mimicking Sam in a high-falsetto voice. “Hi, my name's Sam Wesson and I would like to buy a purse from you. Good lord, look at these purses! This is something special.” Sam reached for a purse. “Oh, my God, is this Salvatore Di-chini-asta?” 

Cas started mimicking Anna. “Oh, definitely, definitely step in and out of it like that.”

Dean nodded, continuing in the voice. “Yes, well I want to stress test it. You know, in case anything happens.” Sam started smacking the purse on the table.

Cas started laughing. “Oh!”

“Oh! That was really…” Sam hit the purse against the table again. “This is necessary to do to really give it a good workout.” Sam tucked it under his arm.” This is the... ooh... This is the prettiest one of all.”

Cas laughed, looking up at Dean.

“I'm going to be the prettiest girl in the ball.” Sam pulled out his wallet. “Oh, how much?”

“Oh, God. It's sad. It's so sad.” Cas was sympathetic.

“Here he comes, shhh…” Dean whispered to Cas in his normal voice. He then gave Sam a thumbs-up and mouthed, “Good.”

Cas smiled encouragingly at Sam.

Dean smiled down at Cas. “He did pick a good one.” 

Cas laughed. “You're horrible.”

* * *

Anna handed Cas a purse. “This one's really good for a hot date.”

“Yeah, what's that?” Cas laughed, not looking at the purse in his hands. 

Anna laughed.

Cas nodded. “I'm engaged. So…”

“Congratulations.” Anna smiled. “You need a hot date more than anyone.” 

Cas grinned. “I wish, right?” 

Paul came in. “Giggle-giggle, juji-juji, I get it, I get it. Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood over here, right?”

“I'm not a woman,” Cas said.

“So how's that, uh, coffee from earlier?” Paul asked Anna.

Anna nodded, glancing at Cas. “Good.”

“Ah, I knew it. Guzzled it down. You greedy little thing.” Anna looked down, clearly creeped out. “So, uh, Cas, is this your lunch break, or was that earlier when you were eating in the kitchen with those guys?”

Cas raised his eyebrows at Anna, sheepishly handed her the purse and left.

“Sorry,” Anna whispered.

“Busted,” said Paul.

“Come back?” Anna asked Cas.

“Oh hey, I want to show you something. Come here, I want to show you something.” He turned and went into his office, Anna trailing behind him. “I know you are going to like this. Picked it up today. A thousand big ones.” 

Anna smiled politely. “Is that from Starbucks?”

Paul nodded. “Yes. This is a Starbucks digital barista. This is the mack daddy of espresso makers.” 

Anna raised her eyebrows. “Wow. Is that for the office?”

Paul laughed. “Oh, I know what you're thinking. You're not prying this out of my hands, but don't tempt me because I'll give it to you!”

Anna shook her head, laughing. “I wouldn't think of it.”

* * *

“Coffee is the great incentivizer in the office. It's a drug. It is quite literally a drug that speeds people up.” The camera zoomed in on a cup between Paul’s ever moving hands. “It's not the only drug that speeds people up. You hear stories about Dunder Mifflin in the eighties before everybody knew how bad cocaine was. Guh. Man, did they move paper!” 

* * *

Paul was explaining the coffee machine in his office as Anna was reading something on her phone. “Oh, the rotating um, steam wand.” He noticed that Anna looked annoyed. “What? What's the matter?”

Anna snapped her phone shut. “Oh, nothing. My ride just bailed on me.” 

“Oh, oh! God. I'm sorry. Is there...?” Paul asked.

Anna shook her head. “Oh, no, it's um…”

“Where you going? Nearby?” Paul asked. “Because I can give you a ride.”

“No…”

“Seriously.” Paul nodded. “No, really.” 

Anna shook her head. “No. I really don't want to inconvenience you.”

“God! No, no, no, no. No inconvenience. I mean, I'm out of here at five sharp,” Paul explained.

Anna started. “At five?”

“I can go earlier,” said Paul quickly. “'Cause I'm the boss. You know, whatever. I'm out of here, slaves.” 

Anna exhaled. “Okay.”

Paul stopped talking. “What?”

Anna nodded. “Okay, I guess that would be, I guess that would be okay.”

“Okay. Sounds good. Sounds good. Five o'clock sharp. I will give you and your purses a ride home.” Paul pointed at her.

Anna smiled. “Okay. Cool.” She left.

“Great. Cool. Cool.” Paul took a deep breath and looked at the camera. “Yeah, okay.” 

* * *

Paul watched Sam do something on his computer. “I should have never let the Temp touch this thing. I had all these great icons and now I have four folders.”

Sam, sitting at Paul’s desk, told him, “It's actually better this way.”   


“No, it's not. Because I could just click on the icon and then I'm onto-” Paul began in a monotone.   


“Paul, could I ask you something?” Sam interrupted. “I wanted to ask your permission to ask out Anna. I know it's against the rules and everything. Because…”   


The camera zoomed in on Paul’s face. “No, no, no it's not against the rules. She's not a permanent employee, so it's not.”    


Sam sighed in relief. “Thank you, Paul. I appreciate this so much.”    


Paul set down his coffee. “But I think you should just know that I am going to be giving her a ride home later.”    


The camera zoomed in on Sam’s face. “What?”   


“She asked me for a ride, and so I am going to give her a ride home,” said Paul innocently.   


“Is that all it is? Just a ride home? Like a taxicab?” Sam interrogated.    


“Well, might be a ride home. Might be a ride home and we stop for coffee and dot-dot-dot…” Paul glanced at the camera and lifted his cup of coffee.   


Sam put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Please. Please, I am your inferior and I'm asking you this favor.” Paul looked uncomfortable. “Can you promise me that it will just be a ride home?”    


Paul thought about it. “No. I cannot promise you that.”    


Sam nodded. “You cannot promise me, or you won't promise me?”    


Paul sighed. “Listen, Sam.”    


“Do you love her?” Sam asked harshly.    


Paul laughed. “Sam, no. I don't know. It's too early to tell. I don't know how I feel.” 

Sam looked away sadly.   


* * *

Anna handed Rufus a purse. “I think you've made a really good choice, she's really going to like that.” 

Rufus looked at the purse. “Hmmm…”   


Paul walked in with a cup. “Espresso?”   


“Oh, thank you,” said Anna politely.   


“You're welcome. Thank you. Hmmm-hmm-hmm.” Paul took a sip of his own espresso.   


Rufus blinked. “Is that from the machine that was in your office?”    


Paul nodded. “Ummm-hmmm…”   


“I thought that was the incentive prize for the top salesperson,” Rufus said gruffly.    


Paul nodded. “Very easy to clean.”    


Rufus turned and walked out of the room.   


Paul snorted. “Okay. Like he's going to win anyway, right?” He laughed.   


* * *

 

“Did we get any mail?” Paul asked Cas.    


Cas nodded, sitting in the chair across from Paul. “Yeah, I gave it to you.”   


“Yes, you did. Yes, you did. Just checkin'. Just checkin', double checkin', checkin' on the check. Thoroughness is very important in an office and…”   


Cas pointed to the door. “So, can I..?”    


“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Cas stood. “Uh, Cas, one more thing. Um, how do girls your age feel about futons?”

Cas looked into the camera.

* * *

“A futon?” Dean asked, swiveling in his chair.

Cas nodded, sitting on Dean’s desk.   


“He's a grown man!” Dean said.    


“That's what he said!” Cas insisted.    


“That's sad. Or it's innovative.” Cas brushed a piece of hair out of his face, smiling. “Well, you know, the futon is a bed and couch all rolled into one.” 

Michael approached then, and Dean stopped smiling and trailed off.   


“What's up?” Michael asked.   


“Hi,” said Cas, not looking at Michael.    


“Are you still mad at me?” Michael asked.    


“Michael…” Cas began.   


“Come on.” Michael started to tickle Cas.   


“Cut it out.”

Dean focused on his computer, edging away from the couple next to him.   


“Come on, you mad at me?”    


“Stop it.” Cas was laughing now.   


“Are you still mad at me now?”    


“Cut it out.”    


“Are you mad at me now?”    


Cas laughed. “Stop.”

“Huh? Huh? Come on... Come on, Cassie, I was just kidding.”

Dean’s green eyes followed the camera and he stood and walked away.

“Stop, I can't breathe,” Cas insisted, breathless.   


“I was just kidding. You know I didn't mean it. I can't…”   


* * *

“Dean is a great guy. He's like a brother to me,” Cas confessed to the camera. “We're like best friends in the office and I really hope he finds someone.” 

* * *

Anna leaned over the table of purses. “You seem to like to touch things. Did you try the velvet?” 

“I don't like to necessarily touch things,” Jess said. “I'm just... I'm shopping.”

The camera zoomed in on Sam, who was watching and bouncing his leg, and then on the bulge in his crotch.    


“Oh no, it's fine that you, um. Here, what about the raspberry one? It's really uh, kind of festive. It's got a lot of personality.”   


“Yeah, uh, no.”    


Sam got up and walked into the conference room. “Hey, how's it going? Good. Can I talk to you for a second? In private?”    


Anna shook her head. “I don't think so, I'm really busy.”    


“It will just take a second,” Sam told her.   


“I can't.” Anna glanced at Jess, who was eyeing an ornate gold purse.    


“Just for a minute,” Sam insisted.   


“I really can't,” Anna demurred.   


Sam blinked. “Please? I wanted to talk to you in private because I wanted to ask you out on a date.”    


“No,” said Anna incredulously.   


“Okay, was that no to talking to me in private, or was that no to the date?” asked Sam carefully.   


“Both,” said Anna in the same tone, nodding a little.    


Dejected, Sam walked out slowly.   


Anna turned back to Jess. “What colors do you like?”    


“Gray. Dark gray. Charcoal,” Jess listed.   


* * *

Paul approached Benny, who was sitting at Ellen’s desk and doing something on her computer. “Benny.”

“Yeah.” Benny looked up and smiled.   


Paul stopped at the edge of Ellen and Rufus’ desks. “Would you like to help me with a special project?”    


“I would love to.” Benny stood up.   


Paul nodded. “Alright.”    


* * *

In Paul's car, he was saying, “Okay, just throw out all the empties.”

“You don't want to recycle them?” Benny asked.   


“Um, yes. Throw them away in the recycling bin.” Paul nodded.    


“Do you want this?” Benny held up a full bottle of water.   


Paul thought for a moment. “No.”    


Benny waved a half empty bottle of sports drink. “What about this bottle of power drink?    


“Uh, what flavor?” Paul asked.   


“Blue.”   


“Blue's not a flavor,” Paul informed him.   


“It says, ‘Flavor: Blue Blast’,” said Benny, reading off the label.    


Light came to Paul’s eyes. “Oh, Blue Blast. Yes, put that in the trunk, and there should be an unopened Arctic Chill back there. I want that in the passengers cup holder. Thank you.”    


* * *

Dean swiveled in his chair before getting up and walking into the conference room. “Hi.” 

Anna smiled. “Hi.”    


“I'm Dean, by the way,” he said, holding his hand out.   


She shook it. “I'm Anna.”    


“Hi, Anna, nice to meet you.”    


Anna pointed outside. “You sit out there, don't you?”   


Dean nodded. “I do. That's what I'm best known for. Sitting out there.” He smiled. “Alright, let's talk about purses.”   


“Okay, um…”   


Dean smiled again. “Anna, but you know what, don't try to sell me one. Okay, seriously. 'Cause I'm just here to learn.”    


“Okay.” Anna laughed.   


“Okay, so I know about most of these, but you know, you can…”    


Anna nodded, smiling. “Okay.”    


* * *

Benny was throwing things he found in Paul’s car away. “What, stop! Whoa!” Paul yelled. “That's my Drakkar Noir.” 

“No, this is Rite Aid Night Swept,” Benny read.    


Paul shook his head. “No, it is a perfect smell-alike. I'm not paying for the label. Right here. Give it.”    


Benny looked at it. “Well, it's empty.”    


Paul snatched it from him. “Not it's not, there's some in the straw.” Paul opened the bottle and wiped the straw along his neck. “There, now you may  throw it out.”    


Benny bent down. “Wow. How many filet-o-fishes did you eat?”    


“That's over several months, Benny,” Paul told him, irritated.   


“Still,” Benny said under his breath.   


* * *

 

“What's up?” Dean asked Cas, who had sat down on his desk.    


“I'm bored,” said Cas truthfully.   


Dean smiled and nodded. “Thank you for choosing me.”    


Cas laughed. “No, I'm kidding. Um, so you got big plans this weekend?”    


“Ah, well I think I'm gonna see Anna.”    


The camera zoomed in on Cas’ face. “Really?”    


“Yeah.”    


Cas had stopped smiling. “What are you guys going to do?”    


“Oh, man I don't know. Uh, dinner, drinks, movie, matching tattoos…” Dean said, nodding.   


Cas smiled and looked down. “That's great.”   


“And stuff... yeah.” Dean turned in his chair.    


“That's cool.” Cas gripped the edge of Dean’s desk.   


There was a pause. “What are you doing?” Dean asked.    


Cas pointed at him, nodding. “I, I was gonna say, I think that um, we're gonna help Michael's cousin move.”   


“Okay.”   


Cas’ blue eyes searched Dean’s face. “ 'Cause Michael's got a truck.” He looked down at the desk.   


Dean paused. “That's cool,” he said, not unkindly.   


Cas leaned back on Dean’s desk, shoulders hunched. “Uh, huh. Yes.”   


Dean exhaled. “That is cool. Well, I'll see you Monday though, right?”    


Cas smiled a little. “Great.”    


“Okay.”    


“Okay, I'm gonna head back.” Cas got up, swinging his fists from side to side in front of him.   


Dean went back to his work. “Alright.”    


* * *

“I think in order to be a ladies man, it's imperative that people don't know you're a ladies man, so I kind of play that close to the chest.” Another shot showed Paul fumbling with a large paper map.

“I don't know, what can I say? Women are attracted to power. And I think other people have told me that I have a very symmetrical face.” He laughed. “I don't know. I don't know. Maybe they're right? I don't know.”    


* * *

The camera zoomed in on Cas, who was rolling up the sleeves of his button down to reveal his forearms, and messing with his hair so it looked a bit neater.

* * *

“Sure you don't want me to help you with that?” Paul asked Anna about her suitcase of purses as they walked to the car with Dean in tow. “Cause I can grab that, no problem.’   


Anna ignored him. “Goodnight, it was nice to meet some of you,” she called back to the rest of the office.    


“See you later! Goodnight!” Paul raised his voice. “Goodnight, Dean.”    


“Goodnight, Paul.” Dean didn’t stop walking next to Anna.    


“Where you goin’?” Paul asked, a touch of uneasiness in his voice.    


“I don't know.” Dean gestured to Anna. “Grab a drink, I think?” She looked up at him and nodded.   


The camera zoomed in on Paul’s face. “With us?”    


Anna seemed to realize and turned to Paul. “I, uh, I probably should have told you, I don't need a ride now, 'cause Dean can take me home after, so you're off the hook.”    


“Okay. Great. Off the hook. Excellent. Okay, cool.” Paul said this all very fast, nodding.   


“I got this.” Dean took Anna's bag from her.   


“Alright, have fun.” Anna waved at Paul. “Don't drink and drive. Take it easy.”   


“Have a good night.” Dean lifted the bag and walked away with Anna.   


Paul looked after them sadly. “You too, have a good night.”    


“You got that?” Anna asked Dean about the suitcase.    


“Oh, yeah.” Dean lifted it into the trunk of his car. “You sold a lot, so it's lighter.”    


Paul got into his car, clearing his throat.   


“Alright now, I'm gonna warn you. Don't freak out, okay?” Dean swung the trunk shut.   


Anna was slightly alarmed. “Why?”

Cas and Michael drove by, Cas looking out the window at the scene blankly.   


“This is a really nice car. In case you haven't noticed, this is an Impala.”   


“It's a... it's a very nice car.”    


“You're not going to freak out?” Dean asked.   


* * *

“Do I have a special someone? Uh, well, yeah of course. A bunch of 'em.” Paul, in his office, smiled. “My employees. If I had to choose between a one night stand with some stupid cow I pick up in a bar, and these people? I'd pick them every time. Because with them, it is an everyday stand and I still know their names in the morning.” 


End file.
